Means A Little Bit More
by Thistle of Liberty
Summary: A Criminal Minds Advent calendar with small scenes or drabbles every day until Christmas. Chapter by chapter summaries on my profile page. WARNING! Non-sexual spanking of adults. Don't read if you don't like.
1. December 1

**A/N: Happy Advent, everybody! This year I have decided to try to do an CM Advent calendar. Every day until Christmas I will (hopefully) post a small drabble or scene or something like that. Some will be Christmas teamed, but not all. If you have any suggestions, please let me know.**

**And I know I should be working on _Memories You Share_ and I am. Not just all the time. It will be finished, in not too long. **

**This chapter is just a small intro of sorts, but I hope you enjoy it.**

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><p><em>And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store? What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more? <em>

_Dr Seuss, American writer_

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><p>Hotch looked deep in thought, almost glaring at the desk in front of him. Not that that was unusual in itself; it was only that Rossi couldn't quite figure out why the younger man seemed so concerned. There was no case going on, he had no problems with Jack that Rossi knew of and the team was fine.<p>

So it was more out curiosity than worry that Rossi knocked on Hotch's office door to check on his friend. Mysteries were always intriguing.

"Hey," he greeted the younger man, taking a seat across from him, "What's up?"

Hotch looked up from the desk, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "What do you mean?"

Rossi shrugged. "You looked thoughtful. Just wondered what has you thinking so intently."

"Intra-team profiling isn't allowed," Hotch retorted with a small smile, before he neatly closed the folder in front of him and looked up at Rossi again, this time completely earnest. "I want to give Jack an advent calendar."

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Rossi gave Hotch an evaluating look. That was a good idea, Rossi supposed, and he could see why Hotch would want to make Jack's Christmas experience as rich as possible, but that didn't explain what the problem was.

"All right…" he said, "What's the problem?"

"What do I get him?" Hotch asked, shrugging dejectedly, "I mean… I want him to enjoy it, but I don't want to spoil him."

Rossi nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Not a gift a day, then? What about those when you get a piece of chocolate?"

Hotch shook his head. "I don't think so. He only gets candy once a week, you know."

"Probably sensible," Rossi agreed. He didn't have that much experience with kids, but he had managed to gather that you shouldn't feed them sugar all the time. "So… what about the standard ones with pictures?"

Sighing, Hotch gave a small shrug. "Somehow I don't think he'd enjoy that all that much. I mean… one inch pictures aren't that exciting for little boys."

"I guess not…" Rossi agreed, frowning thoughtfully. When he was a kid they had had an advent calendar each every year, and now that he thought about it he remembered that he absolutely loved it.

"You know," he said, "I had an advent calendar when I was a kid."

"Really?" Hotch asked, not seeming very surprised, "What was it?"

"It was like a board of small cards and every day we turned one and it had a small verse and a picture," Rossi explained, smiling widely. He hadn't thought about that calendar in years. "This woman Mamma knew had made them and we all had one each. We used to argue about whose was the best. Anyways, it was the Christmas gospel, basically."

"You sound like you enjoyed it," Hotch remarked. Rossi nodded.

"Well, yeah. It was in rhyme and it was really colorful and there were lots of pictures of animals. My mom probably still has it, you know."

Hotch's face lit up at that, probably guessing where Rossi was going with this, but he made no reply but a small humming sound.

"I could ask my mom to find it if you think Jack would enjoy it," Rossi offered and Hotch's smile widened.

"That'd be great," he said, before his smile faltered slightly, "Your mother won't mind?"

"Are you kidding? She adores Jack. And you."

His smile widening again, Hotch inclined his head. "Thanks, Dave. Really."

"Anytime."

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><p><strong>AN2: Hope you all enjoyed that! Again, if you have any suggestions, please let me know.**


	2. December 2

**A/N: Here is chapter two, introducing Rossi's mother! :)** **Enjoy.**

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><p>"Mamma, this is Alex Leroy."<p>

David, taking a step back from her embrace, gestured to the young man a step behind him. Elena obligingly shifted her gaze to him, giving him an assessing once-over.

So this was her boy's partner. This was the man supposed to protect her David when he was out chasing criminals and make sure he didn't get so carried away he forgot to take care of himself.

He certainly looked as if he could be good for her son. A serious expression, a well-fitting blazer over a discreetly patterned shirt and charcoal pants. Dark, short hair. Not like those other young people who wore their hair way down over their collar like hippies or junkies.

"Alex," David continued, turning to his friend, "This is my mother."

The young man smiled, showing off a shadow of dimples, and stretched out his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Madame," he said, a hint of French in his words, "I am finally rewarded for my time with Dave."

Yes, Elena decided, this young man could definitely prove to be a good influence on her son.

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><p>"Mamma, this is Aaron Hotchner."<p>

The young man her son gestured to was awkwardly weighing in the doorway, his face set in a small frown, and at David's words he nervously met her gaze.

Not wanting to scare the boy, who looked as if he was standing half at attention, Elena smiled softly at him before looking him over.

Aaron Hotchner. Her boy's newest addition to his small circle of close friends that could more accurately be described as family. The young man was taller than David and thinner as well. Too thin, Elena thought. Dark hair and a serious face. Again, _too_ serious, as if he hadn't seen enough joy in his young life.

"Aaron, my mother," her son said, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder in a comforting gesture. The dark-haired boy gave a small smile, holding out his hand and Elena took it in hers firmly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," the young man said quietly, his voice smooth and even. Elena smiled widely at him, fighting the urge to pull him into an embrace, and in response to the smile the boy's smile widened too, showing off dimples and looking considerably younger. And even though she was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be seen, Elena quite clearly caught the flash of affection in her son's eyes.

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><p>"Mamma, this is Spencer Reid."<p>

If she'd thought Aaron was too skinny, Elena reflected, she would have to reconsider. This boy looked as if he was no more than skin and bones. If anyone had ever needed to be fed, it was this boy.

He was tall with long bangs of dirt-blond hair hanging into his face. As her son introduced him, the boy gave a small, nervous smile and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

"Reid, this is my mother," David said and Elena couldn't help but wonder why he didn't call the boy by his first name.

The boy made no move to shake her hand, so Elena held out her hand first. After a moment of staring at it nervously, the young man took it.

"Uhm… it's a… eh… pleasure? To… eh… meet you?"

He really did sound as if he was asking, and Elena bit down a smile. Because even though his awkwardness was endearing, she didn't want to make him more uncomfortable. Her son rolled her eyes at the young man, who blushed slightly in response. And rather than looking annoyed, which David usually would have, her son only shook his head with a fond smile.

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><p>"Mamma, this is Jack Hotchner."<p>

The small blond boy holding Aaron's hand looked up, giving a small smile. He had his father's eyes, Elena couldn't help but notice. Large and with a hint of sadness behind them. This seemed to be a very serious little boy. She had met Aaron's son before, but then he had only been an infant. She had seen him at Haley's funeral, but they hadn't spoken. Introducing a little boy to new people at his mother's funeral wasn't something Elena wanted to do.

But now she was more than delighted to meet Jack. Aaron, after giving her one of his rare, wide smiles, turned to his son.

"Jack, this is Uncle Dave's mother," he said, "Remember I told you about her?"

The little boy nodded. "I remember," he said before hesitantly letting of his father's hand to hold out his hand to Elena, "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Rossi."

Jack looked very serious as he said the words, his childish voice sincere and probably modeled after his father. Smiling warmly, Elena knew immediately that this Hotchner boy would steal her heart just as wholly as his father.


	3. December 3

**A/N: Chapter three, everyone. This one does contain mild spanking, so don't read if you don't like.**

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><p>Gideon never ceased to be surprised by how Reid, despite knowing such minute details as the exact population of every town and state in the US, had never done a lot of things that most took for granted. The kid had never been to New York, had homemade waffles or, and this Gideon wasn't even sure why he knew, watched a porn movie.<p>

And, as Gideon had found out earlier this week, had never eaten roasted chestnuts. That might not be one of the essentials in a life, but it was something that Gideon thought all kids should experience.

So this Saturday he had taken Reid with him to his apartment to show the boy how to roast chestnuts and feed him a proper dinner. To begin with Gideon hadn't intended to let the kid help with much, because his coordination was quite frankly not much better than a ten-year old's, but Reid had pleaded so eagerly that he'd relented.

He had to smile as he watched the young man cut crosses in the chestnuts with so much focus that he was actually biting his lip slightly. Shaking his head, Gideon went back to his own stack of chestnuts.

Suddenly, the kid yelped and Gideon quickly looked up, seeing Reid staring at his finger with wide eyes. With his lip close to quivering, Reid held up his finger and gave Gideon a woeful look that made Gideon think of a kicked puppy. There was a graze in the kid's fingers, already with blood seeping out from it.

Shaking his head, Gideon got up to fetch a band-aid and some antiseptic tissues, also snatching a bit of paper. He held out his hand and Reid reluctantly obeyed the unspoken order, pouting slightly as Gideon took a hold of his hand and swiped away the blood, keeping the paper there until the blood stopped seeping out.

Gideon took the package of antiseptic tissue and tore it open, again taking a firm hold of Reid's wrist before gently swabbing at the cut. Reid immediately tried to pull away, pouting and giving Gideon an accusing glare.

"Hold still," Gideon scolded, giving the kid a small squeeze before continuing to swab at the wound. Reid silently accepted the rest of the cleaning of his wound and the application of the band-aid.

"I don't suppose you're going to let me help now?" Reid asked awkwardly, giving him a timid look. Gideon snorted, shaking his head.

"I think not," he said, "Why don't you grab some coffee?"

The kid's face immediately lit up and he jumped up to put on a pot. Gideon normally bought French roast and Reid absolutely loved it; enough to pout incessantly over Gideon not allowing him to have more than two cups whenever he was over.

"Can I have a cookie, too?" Reid asked, and Gideon felt a pang of affection at his endearing childishness. He nodded. "Two?"

Snorting, Gideon nodded again. Happily, Reid reached for the cookie jar, before leaning against the counter and eagerly watching the coffee brewer. It only took a little while before the coffee was finished and with eager skips he grabbed a mug from the cupboard. After filling it he took a seat at the table, contentedly munching at his cookies. His _three_ cookies.

"Thought I said two?" Gideon remarked mildly. Reid looked up, his eyes widening slightly and blushing.

"Sorry," he offered weakly. Gideon just shook his head, turning back to his task of preparing the chestnuts. It didn't take very long and soon enough he was spreading them out in a pan before putting them in the oven. Reid, apparently having finished his coffee, gave him a curious look.

"What happens now?" he asked.

"Now we wait," Gideon replied, "It'll take about half an hour for them to get done, then we peel them and then we eat them."

"Oh, okay," Reid said, giving a small nod, "What do we do now?"

Gideon shrugged, spreading his hands. "I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"Chess?" was the kid's immediate reply and Gideon couldn't help but smile.

"Sure."

Reid eagerly jumped up to get the chessboard and set it up, fumbling slightly and managing to topple over more pieces than he set up. As usual Reid made the first move and soon they were playing intently, Gideon knowing already from Reid's sixth move that he was going to win. Reid was brilliant, but he hadn't quite mastered chess yet.

Glancing at the clock and realizing that thirty minutes had gone by, Gideon got up and looked at the chestnuts. They seemed to be finished and after reaching for the oven mittens Gideon took them out and placed them on the stovetop.

"Can I peel them?" Reid asked immediately, jumping up from his seat.

"We need to wait a few minutes," Gideon said, glancing at the clock again, "I'm going to the bathroom. Don't touch the chestnuts!"

He leveled a stern glare at the kid to reinforce the order and Reid nodded.

When Gideon returned a few minutes later, Reid, to no great surprise, had obviously ignored his order and was sucking on his finger with a pained expression. When Gideon entered he looked up, a guilty expression on his face.

"Spencer…" Gideon said warningly and the boy bit his lip, "What did I say?"

"Eh…" the young man mumbled, "Not to touch?"

Gideon could only sigh. He wandered vaguely if it had been better not to say anything to the boy.

"Come here," Gideon ordered, pointing to the floor in front of him. Hesitantly, Reid obeyed, looking up at Gideon with wide eyes. Sighing, Gideon grabbed him by the arm and delivered three smacks to the kid's backside. Reid needed to learn to listen.

The young man's lower lip almost started wobbling and Gideon immediately gave the back of his neck a comforting squeeze before giving him a slightly push in the direction of the stove.

"They should be okay to touch now," he said and Reid's face lit up, apparently forgetting the sting in his backside and the burn on his finger and skipping over to the chestnuts.

Gideon happily helped him peel them and before long they were done, letting the chestnuts cool for a moment more before eating them.

"So… I just eat it?" Reid said when Gideon handed him a chestnut, studying it intently. Gideon nodded, amused, and the kid slowly took a bite, looking a bit wary. He chewed, still frowning thoughtfully, but after a while his face broke out into a smile. "It's good."

Taking his own chestnut, Gideon smiled. "Happy Advent, son."


	4. December 4

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! :) Unfortunately I don't really have time to reply to them, but they make me really happy!**

**Now, some Hotch-angst in honour of the second of Advent (if that's what it's called)!**

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><p>Haley is growing cold. The skin he's pressing his face against isn't warm and soft anymore and intellectually he knows that the body he is cradling isn't even her anymore. It's lifeless corpse whose clammy skin should make him pull back, but instead he doesn't want to do anything so much as press his lips against her bloodied form and force whatever it was that made her laugh, and cry and talk and move and just be Haley back into her.<p>

He doesn't want her to be gone.

She _can't_ be gone. Not like this, not yet. Everything was supposed to be all right. Jack was supposed to see his mommy and daddy reuniting with a kiss and follow him to his first day of school and watch his graduation and his wedding and spoil his children. She isn't supposed to be gone.

Suddenly, he's pulled away from her and for a moment he fights desperately, trying to hang onto her because if she's still there she can't be gone. The hands that try to steal his last semblance of normality don't seem to care. They ruthlessly push away his hands from her and as she's pulled out of his hold he realizes that the tears streaming down his face stop and he can only stare as her death slowly becomes real before him.

Then they aren't carrying her away any more. She is put down gently where she was before and he stares stupidly at her vacant eyes and slightly open mouth. And he doesn't want to embrace her corpse again. Because by now the blood covering him is beginning to coagulate and he can't escape the knowledge that is her blood, and that it's her life slowly cooling into rust red flakes on his hands and arms and chest and that no matter how long he holds on to this corpse Haley has already been splattered all over him and is now irrevocably and inescapably gone.

A raw, strange sound makes its way up his throat and he can vaguely identify it as a sob. He's cold.

Then there's a hand on his shoulder and someone kneels down next to him, speaking softly and reassuringly and although he can't make out a word of it he soon realizes that it's Dave.

And he really wants to hear what Dave is telling him. He tries to listen, but time is moving so strangely and Dave's voice is so very far away and when he turns his head to try to understand better by watching Dave's face he realizes that the lips are unsynchronized and Dave's face is all blurred and he can't focus his gaze. Still, he really tries to listen. Because Dave is reasonable and sane and very, very safe and he wants to hope that Dave will tell him that Haley really isn't gone.

But Dave's words don't become any clearer and he slowly turns back to Haley, hoping that she will somehow look back at him. And she does; but it's with dead, soulless and most of all blameful eyes. His breath hitches in his throat as he realizes that she will never stop hating him now. For a moment his world is spinning and the thumping in his head has to be something dangerous and he closes his eyes and he's probably swaying because otherwise he wouldn't feel this nauseous and unbalanced and close to toppling over and falling without ever landing.

That doesn't happen, though, because before he has time to fall he's pulled into a warm embrace and for a moment he hopes that it's Haley but then he remembers that Haley is cold now and he realizes that it's Dave. It's Dave putting strong and warm arms around him. Putting a hand on the back of his head and pulling him closer; placing Aaron's head against his chest and enveloping him completely in a soft, warm embrace. Slowly he becomes aware of Dave rocking him gently, his hand rubbing his back and his voice humming some slow, soothing melody.

He slowly feels himself relaxing, his body melting into Dave's embrace and his sobs trailing off into nothing more than hitched breaths. Dave's soft humming stops and he says something but Aaron's muddled senses don't register the words and after a moment Dave stops speaking and just keeps rocking him.

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><p><strong>AN2: Thanks for reading and please review!**


	5. December 5

**A/N: Because of the angst yesterday, here is some more light-hearted stuff. Enjoy! :)**

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><p>Kevin Lynch was terrified.<p>

There was no better word for it.

Utterly, completely terrified beyond all sense and belief.

Because he was pretty sure that neither of the two men in front of him would hesitate to kill him if they thought it was prudent, and at the moment they looked as if they probably did.

Aaron Hotchner and David Rossi were the kind of guys he had hated in school. The guys that turned heads just by walking into a room and who had girls standing in line. Exactly the kind of guys that you would expect in the FBI.

Not like Kevin, who was pretty much as far from the stereotypical FBI agent as possible and whose interaction with the kind of alpha males guys that Hotchner and Rossi were normally didn't extend to more than fixing the viruses on their computers.

So finding himself in a room alone with them, both of their gazes directed unwaveringly at him, was somewhat terrifying. Especially since the relaxed stance Rossi had taken up in a chair next to Hotchner's desk quite clearly displayed the gun on his hip.

But what was really worse was the expression on Hotchner's face. Kevin had laughed when Penelope had told him stories about the power of her boss's glare, because death glares only occurred in comics, but right now Kevin was prepared to accept every one of them. The unit chief was frowning, more deeply than usual, and his mouth was set in a thin line, which to be perfectly honest looked entirely natural on him. He was thumbing a file in front of him, occasionally breaking his intense study of Kevin to gaze down into it.

The three of them had been sitting like that, silently, for what seemed like an eternity to Kevin and he was beginning to think that the morning's quick kiss would be the last he saw of Penelope; that he would be fired on the spot, demoted to tech support at a seniority home. Or even worse, and to Kevin's frightened might infinitely more likely, that he would be summarily executed.

Finally, Hotchner spoke. "We understand that you have a relationship with our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia", he said, his voice as even and smooth as always. If Kevin hadn't been hanging on every word he might have missed the slight pause before "relationship" or the slight emphasis on "our", but as it was he noted them and quite clearly caught the disapproval they conveyed.

Kevin was uncertain how to answer. It wasn't really a question; more of an accusation, and whereas it was undoubtedly true, it wasn't something he wanted to admit. Because fraternization amongst employees was very much against Bureau policy and Kevin liked his job.

"You don't have to lie", Rossi said, and although his tone wasn't as frigidly disapproving as Hotchner's, it was far from friendly. "We know everything."

From most people's mouths that would have sounded ridiculous; like a bad Al Pacino impression, but from Rossi it sounded entirely natural. And very true. Kevin gulped.

"Eh… okay?" he ventured, his voice very close to a squeak. Hotchner frowned at this, then looked down into his file before exchanging a meaningful look with Rossi. Kevin had the feeling that he just said something very damning to himself and that this was when the thumb screws would be brought out. For a moment longer the two men watched him silently before Hotchner spoke again.

"As I'm sure you understand your relationship is entirely against regulations", he said. Kevin nodded slowly, trying to bravely accept the knowledge that this was the end of his career, or possibly his life, and that he would never have the time to hack the Pentagon. It wasn't working very well and Kevin swallowed thickly once again.

"Uh…" he stuttered, trying not to fidget, "Yes?"

Rossi smirked and sat up a bit straighter, then leant forward with his elbows on his knees and studied Kevin with an interested expression, while Hotchner continued his study of the file in front of him; his frown deepening as he read something that Kevin imagine must be especially damning.

"We should terminate your employment", Hotchner continue calmly, without looking up from the file. It took a moment for the words to register, because Kevin was too busy being relieved that it hadn't been 'your existence' that followed 'terminate', but when they did he almost squeaked and began to stutter out some sort of defense. He was quickly interrupted.

"But we're not gonna do that", Rossi said and the sudden joviality in his tone was highly disconcerting. "Garcia likes you and we don't have anything in particular against you."

He paused for a moment, staring intently at Kevin, before he continued, his voice now dead cold again. "So it'd be a real pity if I had to kill you."

This time Kevin really did squeak, unconsciously gripping the armrests of his chair tighter. Oh God. He had never received a death threat before and it was decidedly disconcerting. Terrifying, more like it. Because he had no doubt that the man was serious.

Hotchner's frown deepened slightly and he looked up from his study of the file. "I can't really approve of cold blooded killing, as I'm sure you understand, but I can assure you that Agent Rossi would not leave any evidence that could be a cause for his dismissal."

Oh God. Hotchner had just given his approval of Rossi's matter of fact threat. And from what Garcia had told him about the man, all of which Kevin was now prepared to accept as completely true, Aaron Hotchner always got what he wanted.

"Hotch, I could have it approved by the government," Rossi remarked offhandedly to Hotchner before turning back to Kevin, "So basically kid, it's really simple. You hurt her, you die. _Painfully_."

Before Kevin had time to give a reply, which to be honest would probably have consisted of nervous stuttering, Hotchner looked down into his papers again.

"You may leave now," he said. Kevin didn't hesitate before following the order, almost stumbling in his attempt to get out of the door as soon as possible. And though he was normally an atheist, he couldn't stop himself from muttering a prayer of thanks that he survived the brief meeting.

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><p><strong>AN2: Hope you liked it. Please review. :)**


	6. December 6

**A/N: Again, thanks for all the reviews! I really appreciate them. :)**

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><p>The damn kid doesn't know how to relax, Rossi laments as he listens to Reid's incessant tapping of fingers against the headboard of his bed. It's one in the morning, for God's sake! The kid is supposed to be fast asleep and, most of all, let Rossi get his sleep. Because God knows that their job is hard enough even when he's well rested.<p>

"Reid," he says, trying to sound patient, "Go to sleep. _Please_."

The sound of tapping fingers ceases and Rossi draws a sigh of relief, finally able to relax into the surprisingly soft pillow. His relief only lasts a few moments; then Reid starts shifting around fervently enough that Rossi can hear the bed screech from the moment. He sighs.

"Reid," he warns and the kid stills again.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles in a small voice, "It's just… I can't sleep. Sorry, sir."

Feeling a bit bad, because these days Reid mostly calls him sir when he thinks he's annoyed him, Rossi sighs again. "It's okay. But I think it'll be easier to fall asleep if you stay still, all right?"

The kid agrees and for a moment everything is silent and Rossi begins to think that he'll actually get some sleep that night. But Reid apparently just doesn't know how to be still and with an annoyed groan Rossi sits up and turns on the bedside lamp, glaring at Reid.

"Did you drink too much coffee, or what?" he demands, "Try to relax, Reid. For my sake."

Reid nods, looking much younger than an FBI-agent should be allowed to, and burrows deeper into his pillow, closing his eyes resolutely. For some reason Rossi watches him for a while; maybe some deep-hidden protective instinct is at work. And he realizes that Reid is far from relaxed. He's fairly still, but his fingers are moving twitchily and so is his leg.

Rossi half wants to slap himself. Of course Reid can't relax; the kid's brain works as if it's on crack and Rossi realizes that there's no way Reid can stop thinking long enough to fall asleep just by wanting it. It probably usually takes him hours to fall asleep.

"You ever tried counting sheep?" Rossi asks conversationally, and Reid's eyes snap open. A small frown appears on his face.

"That doesn't make any sense," he says, "Sheep aren't…"

Not wanting to hear a lecture on what sheep are and aren't, Rossi interrupts him. "Yeah, yeah, but have you tried it?"

Reid gives a small nod and Rossi snorts at his despondent expression.

"Didn't work, I take it?" he asks, but doesn't wait for the kid's answer before he continues. "Close your eyes."

Obeying, Reid frowns slightly. "Rossi? What..?"

"Just listen to my voice," Rossi orders, making it as soothing as he can. He isn't entirely sure he succeeds, but a guy can't do more than try. "Focus on your breathing. Don't try to control it; just focus on it. How it feels. Just breathe for a while."

Slowly, Rossi talks him through the process of relaxing his body, several times returning to the breathing because he's good enough a profiler to know that Reid won't be able to keep the relaxed mindset for very long at a time.

Finally the kid falls asleep, after almost half an hour, and Rossi can get back to trying to fall asleep himself. He thinks he should probably be a little annoyed, but he decides that this has probably won him at least a couple of hours more of sleep than he'd get otherwise, so it's okay.


	7. December 7

**A/N: New episode tonight (tomorrow morning for me, really)! :) I feel like I've been waiting for ages.**

**Anyway, another chapter with more of Rossi's mother. Enjoy! :)**

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><p>Hotch wondered if this was what family was supposed to be like.<p>

Leroy was stretched out on the kitchen sofa, one arm thrown over his eyes; possibly trying to stave off a headache. Hotch had a feeling he regretted his exuberance last night. Jo was leafing through a magazine and Gideon was looking out the window with a thoughtful frown.

However, what fascinated, and baffled, Hotch was Rossi and his mother. Not as much because he'd had no idea that you could actually argue about the right way to make tomato sauce as because he had no idea you could argue that heatedly without someone resorting to violence. Rossi was gesturing wildly, looking as if he was trying to appeal to a higher power, and Mrs. Rossi was speaking in rapid Italian, gesturing with the wooden spoon in her hand.

"Mamma, all I'm saying is that thyme adds to the flavor! Just try it!"

Mrs. Rossi said something in Italian, shaking the spoon at her son and putting her other hand on her hip. Rossi rolled his eyes and replied, this time he too speaking in Italian, but before he'd finished his mother broke him off.

"Basta! I am your mother!" the small woman said firmly, "I know what's best."

"That makes absolutely no sense," Rossi said. Whined, really. "Alex, give me some support here."

Leroy groaned and waved a hand dismissively. "Shut up," he grunted and then added, after a moment, "Sorry, Mrs. Rossi."

Hotch couldn't quite suppress his smile. Trust Rossi's mother to elicit an apology from Leroy without even asking for it.

"Jason?" Rossi demanded, giving his colleague a look. Gideon only smiled and shook his head, apparently deciding that it was better not to get involved. Hotch suspected that it was a wise decision.

"Jo?"

Jo just snorted, not even looking up from her magazine, and as Hotch had dreaded that meant it was his turn to offer an opinion.

It wasn't that Hotch thought that this was anything like the arguments when he was a child. Yelling at each other in the Rossi family didn't end in blows and tears, but it was still a bit uncomfortable to see people he cared about raise their voices to each other.

"Hotch?"

"I'm sure both ways have their merits," Hotch mumbled, not looking at either of them.

"Damn lawyer talk," Rossi muttered, crossing his arms. "Ow!"

Rossi gave the small yelp as his mother smacked his arm. "Davide Rossi!"

Apparently, Rossi decided that the argument was a lost cause at that point; throwing up his arms a final time before taking a seat at the table, in Hotch's opinion looking suspiciously much like he was sulking.

"Would it have killed you to give me some backing?" he grumbled to Hotch, who ducked his head to hide a smile. If arguments ended like this he supposed had no problem getting involved in them.

"She's your mother, Dave," he said teasingly, "I'm sure she's right."

Rossi gave him a skeptical look, raising an eyebrow. "Suck-up," he muttered, "Ow!"

He yelped louder as his mother smacked him again, this time on the back of his head. As Rossi turned to glare at his mother, without any real heat, she moved on to Hotch and bent down to press a kiss to his cheek.

"You are a good boy, Aaron," she said and Hotch couldn't quite help the touch of heat that rose in his cheeks. Mostly because of the sense of pride and pleasure that rose in him at that. "You must visit me more often."

"Yes, Mrs. Rossi," Hotch agreed quietly, a bit wary of making the promise since Rossi's standard greeting of his mother seemed to include being scolded for taking too long between visits. Then again, Hotch had no idea how to refuse the woman; even Gideon, who normally seemed blissfully ignorant of any rule he didn't care for, did as Mrs. Rossi said.

"Davey!" the woman then ordered, her voice now curt and Rossi obediently looked up, "Set the table!"

The profiler rolled his eyes, but got up to obey and though Hotch couldn't really make a skilled judgment, he thought the sauce tasted wonderful despite the lack of thyme.


	8. December 8

**A/N: More young!Hotch. :) And this chapter contains references to spanking. **

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><p>Hotch hated David Rossi. Really, really hated him. Rossi was mean and unfair and Hotch <em>hadn't<em> deserved that spanking. He might have been a bit… argumentative over the last few days and he might have been warned by Rossi, but that didn't mean he deserved to be punished for being _mouthy_.

And he certainly didn't deserve being sent to take a nap like a cranky child. Even if he was completely exhausted and the idea of sleeping for twenty hours straight seemed very appealing. It wasn't as if he had snapped at Rossi and gotten himself into trouble because he was tired. It was because Rossi was being unreasonable and it wasn't fair.

To make things worse, Rossi hadn't hugged Hotch and made him feel better like he usually did after the spanking either. And though that might admittedly be because Hotch had told him to go to hell, it left Hotch feeling even more miserable.

To top things off his head was aching dully and he was hungry, just having refused to come down for dinner.

It wasn't fair.

So when he heard a quiet knock on his door, he wasn't sure what he felt about it. He didn't want to be alone, but he was still angry with Rossi. It turned out he didn't really have to worry about it; it was Jo, opening the door and entering without invitation.

"Aaron, sweetie?" she said gently. Hotch pretended he didn't hear her; remaining face down into his pillow, "I know you're not asleep."

Ignoring his ignoring of her, Jo took a seat on the side of the bed and put a hand on the back of his head, softly running her fingers through his hair. She just sat there quietly and after a while Hotch decided to speak up. It wasn't as if it was Jo's fault that Rossi was unreasonable and mean.

"I want to be alone," he said, which was of course a blatant lie, "Dave…"

He trailed off, not sure how to continue. There was no way he was verbally going to acknowledge to this woman that Rossi had spanked him. She knew, but it was a lot easier ignore it.

"Spanked you," Jo continued his sentence, "You've been pushing him all week, honey. What did you expect?"

Hotch frowned into the pillow. He had not been pushing Rossi. It wasn't as if he wanted the older man to be angry with him. He had just… disagreed with Rossi. A lot.

"When was the last time you ate or slept properly?" Jo asked, and unlike Rossi or Leroy she didn't sound like she was demanding. It was just a concerned question. Hotch shrugged. "Aaron, you need to take care of yourself. It's no wonder you're in a bad mood if you don't sleep."

"I'm not in a bad mood," Hotch disagreed, turning around to glare at Jo. She just gave him a skeptical look, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You've been alternating between cranky toddler and moody teenager the whole week," she stated sternly, "You should be grateful Dave waited so long to spank you. I wouldn't have tolerated your behavior for even a day."

Blushing at the woman's censure, Hotch looked down into the covers again. Maybe he had been a little disagreeable, but that was only because Rossi had been treating him like a child. He didn't see Rossi sending any other agent to stand in the corner to calm down or to go home and take a nap. It wasn't his fault that Rossi was unreasonable.

"It wasn't my fault," Hotch mumbled. Jo scoffed and smacked his shoulder lightly.

"Yes it was," she said, "and you know it. Now, dinner's ready. I want you to come down and eat with us."

"I'm not really hungry," Hotch protested halfheartedly. He probably wanted Jo to tell him to come down anyway, to be honest, because he was hungry and he didn't want to be alone. But, and this was really the problem, he didn't want to face Rossi again. The older man was probably angry with him and Hotch didn't want to be subject to the man's disapproval again.

"That's not really what I asked, is it?" Jo prompted him and Hotch decided that the best answer to that was silence. He wasn't about to admit that he couldn't stand the idea of Rossi displeasure. "Sweetie?"

"Dave's angry with me," Hotch admitted quietly, frowning down into his pillow. Jo, shifting slightly, gently grabbed a hold of his chin and turned his head so she could look him in the eye.

"Aaron, Dave isn't angry," she said softly, "He's frustrated because he doesn't understand why you're snapping at him and arguing with him every chance you get and he's upset because you didn't let him comfort you. He isn't angry."

Hotch pulled out of her hold, looking down at the sheets and biting his lips slightly. "I might have told him to go to hell."

Jo smiled wryly, giving his hair a ruffle. "That's understandable. Little boys get cranky when they're tired."

Blushing deeply, Hotch sat up and pushed back the covers.

"I'm not a little boy," he protested, a bit belatedly realizing that he should probably have disputed the other two parts of the statement as well, "And why are you even here? I mean… it's not that I don't want you to be, I just…"

"You and Dave are both in town, so is Alex and I'm not on call. It seemed like a good time to have dinner," Jo explained, "You could call Haley and ask her to come over as well."

"She's visiting her sister. We didn't think we'd get back so soon."

"All right. Are you coming down then?"

Hotch hesitated. He wanted to, he supposed, but he couldn't help but feel a bit anxious that he was still in trouble. He was already miserable; he wasn't sure he could handle being yelled at or, even worse, being spanked again.

"Are you sure that Dave isn't angry?" he asked quietly, not meeting Jo's gaze and picking nervously at his nails, "I mean… he's not going to… you know. Right?"

Smiling kindly, Jo smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "He's not going to spank you, no. You're all in the clear as long as you behave."

"Okay," Hotch agreed, obediently following Jo as she stood up and headed downstairs. He was sort of grateful for the support her hand on his arm gave him as he met Rossi's eyes when they entered the kitchen. The older man didn't really look angry, but he didn't exactly look happy either. After a moment of studying him, Rossi moved forward and pulled him into a quick embrace.

"I swear, kid, you're gonna give me gray hair," he mumbled into his ear but Hotch was pretty sure there was amused fondness rather than real annoyance in his voice, so he just gave a small smile in reply.


	9. December 9

**A/N: Rossi and Reid in this one.** **And again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited and subscribed!**

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><p>Reid normally doesn't think about it that much; it bothered him much more when he was a kid. When being different had much worse consequences than embarrassment.<p>

But when the great profiler David Rossi, who has probably never been unable to fit in, sees him struggling with his shoelaces and finally, after a few jumbled failures, managing to tie them using the _bunny ears_ technique that even the name shows is completely childish and not something appropriate for FBI agents, it suddenly seemed very relevant.

He had taken his shoes off to sit more comfortably when he worked on his geographical profile. He'd wanted a more detailed map, so it had been too large to fit on a table and he'd ended up cross-legged on the floor. And then the hard soles of his shoot dug into his legs so he'd taken his shoes off and went back to work.

And then Rossi showed up, knocking on the door and sticking his head through, telling Reid that he was needed on an interview. Reid, who was still always a little excited to be allowed to work with the legendary profiler, had jumped to his feet eagerly and made to follow Rossi out the door.

Only the older man hadn't left his spot leaning against the doorframe; instead he was studying Reid's feet with an amused smile, and with a blushing face Reid went back to his shoes and pulled them on, bending down to lace them up.

And when he looked up from his chore he realized that Rossi had noticed. That the founder of the BAU and one of the men Reid admired the most had noticed that Reid couldn't tie his shoelaces in the proper, adult way.

Reid's blush had deepened and he'd hurried out of the room before Rossi could comment or laugh.

They finished the case that same day and on the jet home Reid managed to avoid Rossi. The next day he comes to the BAU wearing loafers. Anything to escape the older man's condemnation.

For a few days, he wears loafers and he's pretty happy that Rossi has decided to ignore Reid's deficiency. But he sort of worries a little about it too, because what does the experienced profiler think of him now?

So he decides he needs to learn to tie his shoes the _proper_ way and that's why he ends up on the floor of his hallway, close to tears after half an hour of still not managing to do it with any ease or efficiency. In frustration, he throws the shoes at the wall and decides that he's never ever going to wear shoes with laces again.

And his decisions hold for almost ten hours; the morning after he's checking some blogs before the workday begins properly and he tries to look small and unnoticeable as Rossi enters. Apparently, it doesn't work because as soon as Rossi's eyes roam over the bullpen they halt on Reid's figure.

"Reid? Could I have a minute?"

It's not really a question and they both know it so Reid follows the older man, trying to hide the heaviness of his steps. As soon as they're inside the door Rossi hands Reid the bag in his hand that Reid hasn't really paid any notice to. With a small confused frown, Reid pulls out the box that's in it and opens it, revealing its contents.

It's a pair of shoes. With laces.

Not entirely sure whether he's more angry or embarrassed or just completely mortified, Reid looks up at Rossi, not wanting to admit he is very close to tears.

Surprisingly, Rossi doesn't look gloating or smug; he looks genuinely kind and Reid's whatever it is falters.

"We need something to practice on," Rossi says with a small smile and before he quite knows how it happened Reid is sitting in Rossi's comfortable armchair with Rossi opposite him slowly and surprisingly patiently demonstrating how to tie shoelaces the proper way.

And if Hotch sees their impromptu lesson when he peeks his head through the door to ask something or if the team notices Reid's beaming pride as he's finally mastered the task, no-one says anything.

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><p><strong>AN2: This is sort of written under the assumption that Reid does fit in somewhere on the autism-spectrum, probably Aspberger's, and shoelaces is actually one of the things that might cause trouble with it. **


	10. December 10

**A/N: This chapter contains spanking. It's actually my first time writing a woman in a spanking scene so I hope I did okay. :)**

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><p>Garcia knew that if her superiors found out what she had done she might be in trouble. A lot of trouble. In a way, she regretted her hasty decision to hack Assistant Director Bennett's account and ordering twenty different porn movies. On the other, he had hurt her baby genius and that was inexcusable. Besides, no one could trace it back to her; only her team would know that she had done it.<p>

So hopefully the whole thing would be forgotten come Monday and she could spend the weekend hanging out with Kevin.

Those plans, however, were interrupted by a demanding knock on her door and with an annoyed frown Garcia went to open it. She had no time to herself on the job, so couldn't she at least get one weekend now and again? Her annoyance, however, died away as she saw who was on the other side of the door to be replaced by surprise. It was Rossi.

"Agent Rossi," she greeted in surprise. Rossi nodded curtly and entered, not waiting for her permission. Kevin looked up as the agent entered, and even though he had clothes on this time he blushed and shot to his feet, starting to stammer out some sort of greeting.

"Beat it," was all Rossi said, jerking his thumb towards the door. Kevin obeyed, not even stopping to give Garcia a proper goodbye, but she couldn't really blame him. Rossi did look quite pissed off.

Not speaking, Rossi shrugged off his jacket and took a seat on the sofa. Nervously, Garcia moved closer to him, twisting her hands in front of her. This was unexpected. And to be entirely honest, a bit alarming. Because she could easily imagine what Rossi was about to do; the older man was, as had been shown repeatedly, a firm believer in old-fashioned corporal punishment. And though she had never been on the receiving end, she wouldn't put it past Rossi.

"You were specifically told not to do anything to Bennett," Rossi began while leaning forward, putting his elbows on his legs. Garcia nodded, not sure how else to answer. There was no point denying it; profilers tended to know stuff.

"I'm sorry sir," she said after Rossi didn't continue, hanging her head.

"I should hope so," Rossi said sternly, "I had to call in some favors I'd rather not collect on to appease Bennett. It was a stupid thing to do, Penelope."

Feeling her eyes filling with tears at the man's obvious displeasure, Garcia nodded miserably. She supposed it had been stupid.

"Bennett might not be able not prove it was you, but he has the power to get you fired and more anyway. Would that juvenile act of revenge have been worth losing your job over?"

With cheeks glowing from embarrassment, Garcia shook her head. She had always hated being at the receiving end of someone's disapproval; wanting to make people happy was part of who she was.

"No, sir" she whispered, trying to blink away the tears. For a moment Rossi's face softened at her obvious distress but then he schooled it into an expression of sternness again and motioned for her to come closer.

"Have you ever been spanked?" he asked, abruptly bringing the conversation directly to the topic Garcia had hoped it wasn't headed for. She shook her head.

Her parents had been rather caught up in the hippie-wave and had believed in a free upbringing, and when she as a teenager had started pushing the boundaries they had mostly allowed it as a part of the process of growing up. They'd let her know they'd disapproved, sure, but not much more than that.

"My parents didn't really believe in any sort of punishment," she explained and Rossi nodded.

"Well, as you might be aware, I do. Come here, Penelope."

Her nervousness rapidly increasing, Garcia hesitated. Was she really about to get a spanking? Sure, she had been given a few swats as foreplay once or twice, but it had never really done anything for her so she had no idea how a real spanking would feel. From seeing Reid and Morgan with puffy eyes squirming in their chairs, she guessed it was pretty painful, though.

"Don't make me come get you," Rossi warned and deciding that the level of sternness in Rossi's voice was approaching dangerous Garcia immediately obeyed.

It was a bit awkward being lowered over Rossi's knees like she was a little girl, but Rossi seemed unfazed so Garcia quietly complied. As soon as she was across his knee, Rossi brought his hand down with a crisp smack and Garcia drew a sharp breath. It stung.

The man continued spanking, methodically covering every part of Garcia's backside. His swats were hard and after only a few rounds Garcia found herself wriggling to avoid the next one. Rossi only tightened his hold around her waist in response and continued the spanking without change.

"You do not get to go against Hotch's or my orders," Rossi began scolding after a while, "I don't care what your reason was: it was childish and it could have cost you your job. Do you understand?"

"Ow!" Garcia yelped as a swat landed on the top of her thighs and increased her struggles to get out of Rossi's hold.

"Penelope," Rossi prompted her, sounding very stern.

"Yes sir, I understand," Garcia replied quickly, her eyes rapidly filling with tears. This hurt more than she had expected. Just as the tears running down her cheeks were threatening to turn into full blown sobbing, Rossi stopped. For a moment Garcia remained over his lap, his hand rubbing her back soothingly, but then he righted her, helping her take a seat beside him and pulling her into a tight embrace.

For a while Garcia just sniffled sadly against his chest, noting that even though the older agent wasn't as muscular as her delicious hunk, he certainly was well-trained.

Then, with a final sniff, Garcia pulled back and wiped at her tear-stained cheeks.

"That really hurt, Mr. Super-agent," she said. Rossi smiled wryly, stretching out a hand to help her dry away the tears.

"If anything like this happens again you'll be missing some clothing, so be grateful for that instead," he said, patting her cheek fondly. "And that it wasn't Hotch."

Her eyes widening, Garcia pulled back even further. "He wouldn't! Would he?"

"Nah, probably not," Rossi admitted with a grin, "But I won't hesitate to do it again if necessary, all right?"

Garcia nodded empathically. She believed him.

"Great," Rossi said, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her cheek, "So… do you want me to send the computer kid back up? He probably thinks I've killed you."

Kevin, or the 'computer kid' as Rossi so eloquently put it, Garcia had completely forgotten about. What would he think of Rossi's unexpected visit? And what was more, what would he think of what had just transpired? Her boyfriend was pretty open-minded, but this was admittedly a bit unusual. She could refuse to see him, but that would just make him more curious.

"You think he's still here?" she asked. Rossi shrugged.

"If he isn't he's not worth keeping," he replied dismissively and then, after a pause, as if he'd read Garcia's mind about her worries, "Look, I don't think he's… eh, adventurous enough to get in any sort of trouble but this kind of discipline isn't as unusual in the Bureau as you'd think. He's probably encountered it, you know. And if he gives you a hard time about it I'll kick his ass."

Again, Garcia completely believed him.


	11. December 11

**A/N: Tag to 6x06 "Devil's Night"**. **And in case you're interested, I am almost finished with the final chapter of _Memories You Share_**, **so it should be posted relatively soon. **

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><p>Rossi couldn't deny that the fear he'd felt when Hotch entered the house had been quite enough for him to reconsider his decision not to be too pissed at the younger man for entering the house before that. The<em> burning<em> house before that. But to be entirely honest, he would have done the same himself and it had probably been the best option. They knew fairly well what made Kaman tick and Hotch would have had time to get out, having being careful to place himself in the doorway. And the fact that there had been a kid involved made up for a lot of danger.

Still, they needed to talk about it and Hotch had probably figured that much out for himself, as he showed no surprise when Rossi took a seat opposite him; only neatly closing the folder in his hands and looking up at Rossi.

"So… a burning house, huh?" Rossi began. Hotch nodded, looking very composed.

"Yes," he said, "and before you start yelling, let me explain. The man in there quite possibly had information that could stop a spree killing. I made the call that I could get in and out without any substantial danger."

Not quite able to decide whether Hotch was being flippant or not, Rossi raised an eyebrow. "'Without substantial danger'? Aaron, the building exploded."

"When we were twenty feet away," Hotch replied calmly, "I made a call, Dave."

That was what it really came down to, Rossi supposed. He normally didn't second-guess Hotch and if the younger man really thought his decision had been the right one, Rossi was inclined to agree. He had trained him, after all.

"You'd do it again?" Rossi asked, carefully keeping his expression blank. Hotch nodded.

"I would."

"All right, then" Rossi said and he had to admit that the brief look of confusion on Hotch's face was rather satisfying.

"That's it? You're not… angry?"

Rossi shrugged. "Like you said; you made a call. You didn't rush headfirst into danger because of some self-destructive urge. You're a good agent, Hotch, and I trust your judgment. Most of the time."

Hotch frowned briefly, thoughtfully, before he gave Rossi an evaluating look.

"That's good," he said, "Because I did make the right decision."

"I believe you," Rossi replied, spreading his arms, "You're the boss, after all."

"I'm glad you approve of my position," Hotch drawled teasingly, smiling wryly. He _was_ probably glad, although it couldn't exactly be news to him that Rossi was proud of the job he did.

"I'll still yell if you mess up, though."

With a soft chuckle, Hotch nodded. "Got it," he confirmed and for a moment they were both silent, Hotch looking out the window and Rossi watching Hotch look out the window. Even with JJ's recent departure Hotch was looking better than he had for a long time; more relaxed and considerably happier. Most of it could probably be attributed to the time spent with his son.

"You doing anything particular tonight?" Hotch asked after a while, turning to look at Rossi again.

"Actually ," Rossi began, throwing a look behind him at Reid's outstretched from on the couch, "I think I'm going to a Phantasmagoria show."


	12. December 12

**A/N: More of Rossi's mother! And Hotch-angst galore, naturally. ;)**

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><p>Hotch was exhausted. Completely exhausted. He hadn't slept for four days, his whole body was tense and he could feel his head slowly and painfully throbbing. He wanted nothing more than for the case to end and go home and collapse. He wanted to be at the police station and read through the stack of files that he was pretty certain held their UnSub. He wanted to be allowed to pretend that things were all right and that he wasn't on the verge of falling apart.<p>

He did _not_ want to have dinner with Rossi's mother. Because even though he liked the woman, maybe even loved her, dinner with her didn't include being allowed to stay shut off. It included hugs and jokes and the expectation on him to be conversational and relaxed. He'd tried getting out of, saying that he'd rather stay at the station and work, but Rossi had been adamant.

So here he was, in the hallway of Mrs. Rossi's house, staring at the carpet while Rossi hugged and exchanged kisses with his mother, all the while listening as the woman scolded him for taking so long to visit.

"Aaron!" she then said, moving on to greet him. Hotch held out a hand, but as he had expected he was pulled into an embrace instead. A warm, tight and somehow very comforting embrace.

Hotch had gotten used to being hugged by Rossi and his family. He'd even learned to take comfort from the closeness and though he hated to admit it he sometimes even found himself wanting it. But no matter how warm or reassuring Rossi's hug was, there somehow was something different about being hugged by Jo or Mrs. Rossi. A bit like how it had been being hugged by his mother when he was a child.

And for some reason the warmth and safety of the Italian woman's arms around him broke down Hotch's carefully built walls and he found himself pressing his face against Mrs. Rossi's shoulder, not wanting the escape the embrace gave him to end.

"Aaron, my boy?" Mrs. Rossi asked, her voice gentle with concern, "What is wrong?"

Refusing to raise his head, Hotch just shrugged. Maybe it was childish, but he just couldn't face answering. Mostly because he had no proper answer to give.

Luckily, Mrs. Rossi seemed to take his refusal to answer as a reason to tighten her embrace, moving a hand up to stroke his hair. Hotch vaguely noted that that must be where Rossi got the habit from. For a while she remained silent, just holding him, but as Hotch had expected she then spoke again.

"Aaron? What is wrong, little one?"

At Mrs. Rossi's kind words and soft voice, Hotch's eyes filled with tears. He was exhausted and he wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere far away from angry fathers and murders and blood and everything else that was slowly and mercilessly invading every moment of his life.

Feeling childish and ridiculous and hating himself for it, Hotch sobbed into the woman's soft arms and gratefully allowed her to rock him soothingly, completely ignoring the fact that Rossi was there and could see him. Because he just couldn't keep up his walls when Mrs. Rossi's soft arms were around him and he was safe from the world and he didn't need to be strong and composed.

"Shh… Andrà tutto bene. My sweet little boy."

Hotch made no reply but a small non-committal sound. Apparently, Mrs. Rossi took that as a sign that there was no point in further conversation and for a while Hotch was allowed to remain safely in her embrace, being rocked slowly. Just why it felt so safe to be enveloped in the small woman's surprisingly strong arms, Hotch couldn't quite figure out. She was soft and she smelled of cooking and fresh bread and her thick, graying hair tickled his neck, but that didn't really explain it.

He found himself gently being led to one of the spare bedrooms, too dazed to really care. It seemed as if the lack of sleep from the past days had suddenly caught up with him and the images from the seven crime scenes they had visited got past the emotional barriers.

Mrs. Rossi gently sat him down on the bed, stroking back his hair from his forehead before pulling him back into a tight embrace, starting to rock him again. Hotch passively accepted the embrace; too tired to hug the woman back and trusting her not to let go.

After a while he ran out of tears and his sobs trailed off into nothing more than hitched breaths. Mrs. Rossi held him tightly for a moment longer before pushing him back, down onto the pillow.

"Lie down now, little one," she mumbled, wiping away most of his tears with her thumb, "I will stay until you are sleeping."

Hotch nodded, closing his eyes as Mrs. Rossi pulled the covers up to his chin and gave his cheek a fond pat.

"Everything will be all right," she continued, her voice a low, soothing humming that for some reason made Hotch's excruciating exhaustion morph into a comfortable sleepiness, "You will rest now."

Too tired to do anything but obey, Hotch fell asleep within moments.

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><p>Elena had to admit that Aaron's sudden breakdown worried her more than a little. Normally, the young man was so composed that Elena's main worry was that he was too shut off from his feelings. But as much as she'd thought that acknowledging his feeling would be good for the boy, it was a bit worrying to see him cry like that.<p>

When she exited the room, throwing a final glance on Aaron's sleeping form, she almost walked straight into her son who was weighing on his feet right outside the door, a worried expression on his face.

"How is he? What's wrong with him? Is he sleeping?"

David fired off the question rapidly, not taking time to breathe in between, and Elena had to admit that she found it a bit amusing. Mostly endearing, but a little amusing. Because her boy was very good at pretending he didn't care about things and it was interesting how completely the young man sleeping in the room behind them could overthrow that.

"He's sleeping," she replied, in Italian. To her vexation, David spoke English more often than he spoke Italian even with her and she made a point of using her mother tongue when it was just the two of them, "The poor boy's completely worn out. Aren't you taking care of him?"

Her son looked completely affronted at that, frowning deeply. "Mamma! I take care of him. How can you even say that?"

In normal circumstances Elena would have scolded him for taking that tone with her, but as it was she only gave him a disapproving look.

"Because he broke down and cried and then fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow?"

"I told him to go to bed!" David argued, spreading his arms, "I told him he needed sleep! I told him he should eat and sleep and rest. I tell him all the time! He just doesn't listen!"

Refraining from pointing out that David wasn't exactly a good role model in that department, Elena just shook her head. "Then you tell him again, and if he still doesn't listen you spank him and put him to bed anyway! It worked with you, yes?"

Her son snorted. "Yeah, but I was ten."

"Oh, it would still work," Elena assured him and her son blushed slightly.

"Yeah, well… I'll do that next time, then" he said, a bit sheepishly. Elena just shook her head, smiling.

"Good," she said, "Now you go rest while I cook dinner for you and my little boy."

David frowned. "I've actually got some files to look over."

Crossing her arms, Elena gave her son a stern look. "David!" she warned.

"Mamma," her son protested, "I'm pretty sure I'm old enough to know when I need to rest."

Deciding to demonstrate her point on how to get stubborn young men to go to bed, Elena spun her son around and pushed him in the direction of his bedroom with a well-aimed swat.

"Mamma!" David whined but he did continue toward his bedroom, apparently seeing the sense in obeying his mother. Elena remained in her spot until he entered the room, taking off his jacket in the doorway as if to say 'look, I am going to bed' before closing the door.

Pleased that her boys were now safely tucked away, she continued downstairs to start dinner.


	13. December 13

**A/N: Today is Saint Lucy's (Santa Lucia) Day, so I decided to have some fun with that. :)**

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><p>Stretching lazily, Rossi yawned and threw a look at the clock on the bedside table. It was seven. Too early to get up but hopefully not too early to have some more fun with the beautiful blonde next to him in the bed. When Stark had first informed them that they were going to Sweden on some kind of consult, Rossi had been skeptical of the reputation Swedish girls had. He was proved wrong on his and Leroy's first night out. And fortunately, they all thought the idea of an Italian-American FBI agent was pretty hot.<p>

The girl he'd brought to his hotel room last night was gorgeous and she'd certainly proven Sweden's reputation as a… liberal country. Anyway, he had three hours until they needed to head for the airport and hopefully the girl, Kristina, was up for some more fun. Rossi rolled over, lightly poking her arm.

"Hey," he said, "You awake?"

He didn't get any further than that, however, because all of a sudden the door to his hotel room was opened and some sort of singing ghost impersonation entered. Clutching at the covers, Rossi sat up hastily as he took in the sight.

It was a woman – pretty good-looking, Rossi couldn't help but notice – dressed in what looked like some sort of night-gown reaching all the way to her feet. There was red silk ribbon tied around her waist and she had freaking candles in her hair. Well, in a crown. Behind he trailed a dozen or so other girls, dressed in the same way but with… some sort of glittery string around their waists and in the hair. And behind them were a couple of guys also dressed in long night-gowns, except with cones on their head and some sort of wand in their hands. To top it all off there were some sort of Santa-figures, except with no beard, and three guys dressed as gingerbread men.

"What the f- ?" was all Rossi got out, too surprised to formulate a coherent question. His unexpected visitors kept singing, in Swedish so Rossi recognized no other words than 'Lucia', and when they were done he turned to Kristina, hearing her giggle uncontrollably.

"Do you know what this is?" he demanded, gesturing at the singers. Trying to get her laughter under control, the blonde nodded.

"This is a Lucia-train," she said, "It is an old Swedish tradition."

She turned to the singers and said something in Swedish, her voice slightly muffled by her contained laughter, and at her words the rest of the people also laughed, or at least smiled.

"We are very sorry, Mr. Rossi," the girl with the candle-crown said, not sounding very sorry at all, "We are the hotel's Luciatåg and we wake all our guests up. If we knew you were not Swedish we would have knocked on the door. Do you want a… eh… lussekatt?"

She gestured to the tray that Rossi now saw one of her followers was holding, filled with yellow buns shaped like Ss. Rossi turned to Kristina, raising an eyebrow.

"They're not trying to poison me, are they?"

The woman laughed again, shaking her head. "No, this is also tradition. They are called Lucia-cats. It is a sort of bun with saffron. They are very good."

Shrugging, Rossi nodded and sat up fully to take one of the pastries from the tray he was offered. Kristina exchanged some more words with the white-clad girls and as a result Rossi was handed a cup of steaming coffee. If all Swedish traditions included a dozen women in his room giving him coffee in bed he might consider a move.

Suddenly he noticed the parade moving apart, letting through what turned out to be Leroy, looking a bit haggard in a ruffled shirt and jeans. Still, he was smirking widely and looked very much like he was enjoying himself. Rossi glared at him, narrowing his eyes.

"You knew about this, didn't you?" he accused. Leroy's smirk widened.

"Might have had an idea," he said, "We had a Swedish au pair for a while when I was a kid."

Rossi's frown deepened. "You didn't think to tell me?"

"What would be the fun in that?" Leroy said, snatching up one of the buns and accepting a cup of coffee before sitting down in the armchair tucked away in the corner of the room.

"Do you want another song?" the girl with the crown asked once he had settled and after a moment's consideration Rossi nodded. Why not?

As they sang, this time a duet of sorts with the men, Kristina also sat up and nuzzled closer to him and Rossi couldn't help but wish that they were alone.

The song was fairly short and once they were done those who had entered the room began filing out.

"We must continue now," the leader said with a wide smile, "We leave some lussekatter."

The girl holding the tray did leave some buns on a napkin, she too giving them a smile before leaving, closing the door behind her.

"Okay…" Rossi said once they were alone again, turning to look at the blonde at his side, "That was weird. Is this really a tradition or are you two pulling my leg?"

Kristina nodded sincerely, accepting a bun from Leroy. "It is tradition. It is done in all Sweden. Did you like it?"

"Uh…" Rossi began, hesitantly. He hadn't _not_ enjoyed it, he supposed. "Sure."

"You should have seen your face," Leroy chimed in, an insufferable smirk on his face as he sipped his coffee. He looked far too comfortable in the chair and not wanting him to get the idea that he was actually welcome, Rossi glared at him.

"Don't you have anyone else to pester?" he asked, "I kind of have company."

"You're not supposed to pick up women when we're on the job, you know," Leroy teased.

"First of all, we're not on the job. The case is closed. And second of all, who's gonna find out?"

"_I_ might," a voice suddenly came from the doorway and with a small grimace Rossi recognized the voice of his boss, "Leroy is right, Rossi. We don't have rules about this kind of thing for fun."

At their boss's entrance Leroy had straightened in his chair, looking a bit guilty even though he hadn't really done anything, and Rossi offered a weak smile.

"Sorry?" he said. Stark shook his head disapprovingly, for a while just glaring sternly at Rossi. Then he sighed.

"Just be in time for the flight," he ordered before turning on his heel, "Leroy, with me."

Leroy looked rather put out at the order, probably having looked forward to ribbing Rossi some more, but as expected he obeyed quickly, casting a narrow-eyed glare at Rossi as he left.

"Was that your boss?" Kristina asked once both men had left. Rossi nodded.

"Unfortunately. Now, I've got three hours until I leave…"


	14. December 14

**A/N: For supergirl who wanted a tag to 2x19, Ashes and Dust. Hope you like it! :)**

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><p>Fire, Gideon thought, was one of the most destructive forces imaginable. Not only did it tear apart and demolish; it did so with a tantalizing beauty that made it far too easy to identify with pyromaniacs and arsonists.<p>

Hotch, as a rule, didn't share Gideon's discomfort with pyromaniacs. He didn't sympathize with them or make excuses for them anymore than he did other UnSubs, but he normally didn't let them get to him. Which was why the strong reaction this case had elicited from the younger man was so surprising.

After sending Morgan and the local policeman back to the station, Gideon moved over to the black SUV Hotch had escaped to. He was leaning against the car, his hands entwined and his brow resting against his forearms. Gideon couldn't help but think that he looked as if he wanted to melt down into the car.

"Hotch," he said, moving up next to the younger man. Hotch didn't answer; in fact he made no sign at all that he had heard Gideon. "Hotch!"

When Hotch still didn't acknowledge him, Gideon moved on to more drastic methods and gave the younger man's backside a sharp swat. Hotch jumped and turned around to glare at Gideon, his face set in a deep frown, which Gideon ignored. One of the perks of being senior agent was that his unit chief's stern and forbidding glare had very little effect on him; partly because he still remembered Hotch as "the new kid" and partly because David Rossi when he retired had given Gideon very explicit permission to take Hotch over his knee if he thought it was needed. Making sure that Hotch heard.

"What's the matter with you, Hotch?" Gideon asked, his brow set in a concerned frown. Hotch sighed, hanging his head. "Hotch?"

"Jason…" Hotch finally replied, sighing deeply, "It's nothing. Just… leave it alone."

Rubbing his hands together, Gideon's frown deepened. Avoidance and deflection were Hotch's number one tools in dealing with uncomfortable conversations, but normally he did it with considerably more finesse.

"Hotch," Gideon said, half warning, "Do we really need to do this?

"Do what?"

Hotch raised his eyebrows with pretend incredulousness. Gideon frowned, mostly in censure but partly in thoughtfulness, but remained silent. Even though silence wasn't as effective in making Hotch talk as in making Reid talk, it did occasionally work.

"It's funny," Hotch said after a while, caving in to the silence demanding to be filled, and gave a small, crooked and rather self-deprecating smile, "When I started doing this I was worried that I would become jaded and now… I wish that I had. I always think that the next time… I won't be as affected, but… well, I always am."

Gideon rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. The younger man was right, he supposed. For a long time Gideon had hoped that the pain of cases would get lesser with time, but instead it, if anything, grew. Losing another victim, seeing families trying to deal with a loved one's death and most of all, the inevitable realization that whatever they did, however many they saved, there would always be another case.

"Save one life and you save the world," Gideon quoted softly. Reminding yourself of that made it easier.

Hotch gave a small, bitter laugh. "But we didn't save that one life, did we? I let Abby die."

"You did?" Gideon asked, making his voice mildly curious. Sometimes Hotch really did go overboard with the constant self-blame.

"You know what I mean," the younger man mumbled, still leaning against the car. "I should have known."

"You can't think like that," Gideon chided him quietly, "We do our best, we try our hardest and if that's not enough… there's nothing we can do about it."

"I should have seen it," Hotch repeated, banging a fist against the car in frustration, his eyes tear-filled and his jaw clenched tightly, "I should have. He needed to make a difference, Jason, and I should have seen that!"

With his normally composed voice breaking over the last words, Hotch turned to give Gideon a despairing look. This had really gotten to him, Gideon realized. His friend was truly devastated about Abby's death and as always when something hurt him, Hotch blamed himself.

"You identified with Abby," Gideon stated, pushing away the slimmer of guilt at profiling Hotch. Or more accurately, at voicing it. The profiling itself wasn't something he could turn off; it was an innate part of how he saw the world. "You saw a man so intent on saving the world that he lost his own family and you're afraid that that's what's happening to you. His death was a confirmation of your inevitable failure, which in turns confirms your belief that you are at the core unworthy of being a father."

Gideon stopped there, letting the words sink in. Maybe it was cruel to point all this out so bluntly, but Gideon genuinely though this was the best way. Dissecting Hotch's ridiculous reasoning for how everything in the world was his fault often proved effective.

"And you're telling me that I'm wrong?" Hotch asked, surprisingly hostile, "You're making this into a product of the inferiority complex stemming from my childhood?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "You know Jason, not everything in my life revolves around my father, despite what you and Dave think."

"You're telling me that cognitive patterns reinforced all though childhood and adolescence has no impact on a person's later life?" Gideon inquired, this time not needing to pretend he was incredulous.

"Jason, it was twenty fucking years ago," Hotch snapped venomously, surprising Gideon with his sudden vehemence.

"And you've dealt with a lot of it," he assured the younger man, "but you can't in all honesty say that your childhood has no impact on who you are right now."

Hotch's mouth tightened, his fists clenching, and he shook his head yet again. He sighed. "No, I guess not. I'm damaged forever."

Gideon gave him a skeptical look. It was unlike the younger man to be this contemptuous of himself. He still doubted himself, but he didn't hate himself. At least, that was what Gideon had thought.

"Hotch…" he said, "Should I call Dave?"

The tears in Hotch's eyes swelled, almost threatening to escape down his cheeks. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply. Finally, he gave a small nod.

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><p><strong>AN2: I might continue this, depending a little on how much time I've got etc. Please leave a review!**


	15. December 15

**A/N: I am a little behind on my writing, but I hope I'll be able to do a chapter a day. If not, I apologise. **

**This is for LOTRjunkie14 who wanted something with a lot of Leroy and fluff. There is a lot of Leroy, but as for the fluff... Well, that didn't go too well. ^^' This is basically some backstory with Rossi and Leroy pre-BAU. **

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><p>Rossi had been brought up to show respect for women. In school and in the army it had been pretty commonplace to brag about conquests and the like, but Rossi had never quite gotten comfortable with the jargon. Mostly because he was pretty sure his mother would murder him if he even thought some of the things that were said.<p>

One woman, however, who he had absolutely no problem calling a bitch to anyone who would listen, was Adèle Leroy, Alex Leroy's mother. Because, well… she _was_ a bitch.

She's slapped her own son and even though most of their conversation had been in French Rossi had caught the meaning behind her harsh words to her son all too clearly.

It had been late, drawing close to nine, and the building was mostly empty. He and Leroy had decided to stay late to get some long overdue paperwork done, strongly encouraged by their boss, and were just entering the lobby when Rossi noticed Leroy coming to an abrupt halt next to him.

"Alex..?" he asked, turning to his friend. The other man had paled, his jaw clenched tightly and his slightly widened eyes fixed on something over by the door. Curious, Rossi followed his gaze.

It was a tall woman, perhaps in her fifties, dressed in a long gray coat and her hair done up tightly. She gazed over the lobby imperiously, her eyes finally landing on Leroy. Her face immediately took on a disapproving look. Rossi could almost feel the tension in his friend's body as he approached the woman, finally stopping a few feet away from her.

"Mère," he greeted, his voice considerably colder than it should be considering the word. Mother.

"Alexandre," the woman acknowledged, equally frostily, and gave him a nod, "Who is your friend?"

"This is David Rossi," Leroy replied, looking very much as if he could barely keep himself from starting to yell. The woman looked Rossi up and down, and from the looks of it she didn't exactly like what she saw, and before Rossi had time to make a move to shake her hand she turned back to Leroy, pursing her lips disapprovingly.

She said something in French and already after the first few words Leroy began shaking his head, raising his hand to stop her. After a while he simply interrupted, saying something sharply and gesturing to the lobby behind him. His mother replied, raising her voice slightly, and for a while Leroy listened, even though he looked very much annoyed. Then he retorted again, his voice even sharper, and gestured angrily. He continued for a while, then paused to let his mother answer, or maybe just to take a breath, and to Rossi's completely shock his mother used the pause to slap him across the face.

And not just a normal might-even-have-been-acceptable slap; it was a slap that actually left a small gash in Leroy's lower lip and a small dribble of blood seeping out. Leroy looked just as stunned as Rossi, for a while just staring at his mother. Then he abruptly turned on his heel and headed back where they had come from, probably going to their office.

A security guard had begun approaching them quickly as soon as he saw the commotion, and to be entirely honest Rossi was tempted to tell him to haul the woman off to jail. But Leroy probably wouldn't appreciate that, or he would have seen it done to himself, so Rossi just turned to her with what he hoped was a menacing glare.

"Just… get out!" he snapped, waving his hand toward the door before he too turned and headed up the stairs.

No wonder Leroy preferred not to talk about his mother.

When Rossi got the office they shared he couldn't see Leroy to begin with. Then he noticed him; sitting slumped against a wall with his eyes closed and an unlit cigarette in his hand. The small gash in his lip had stopped bleeding but he hadn't bothered to dry away the trail of blood or the few specks on his collar.

"Hey," Rossi greeted him cautiously. He wasn't used to seeing his friend like this; Leroy had his moments of brooding, but right now he looked truly devastated, only a hairsbreadth from tears.

"Hey," he echoed listlessly, making some sort of small wave with his hand.

"Are you… I mean…" Rossi began stutteringly. What the hell was he supposed to say? Leroy just didn't do helpless and he had no idea how to deal with this. "Do you want me to kill her?"

His friend gave a hollow laugh and Rossi's silent panic grew exponentially as his eyes filled with tears.

"All I ever wanted," Leroy said hoarsely, glaring at the cigarette loosely grasped in his fingers, "was for her to love me. That's all. I didn't ask for her time or for her to actually pay attention to me or anything. I just wanted her to love me."

Damn. What was he supposed to say to _that_? He supposed he could reassure Leroy that his mother _did_ love him and that she just didn't know how to express it etc. etc. but the woman had just hit him. Rossi's mother had slapped him exactly one time and that had been after he'd shouted at her in such a haze of anger that he had no idea what he'd actually said. And to be entirely honest that slap hadn't even hurt; it had mostly been a rather resolute way to snap him out of his… well, tantrum. He certainly hadn't been left _bleeding _and his mom had hugged him for ten minutes straight immediately afterward.

"Eh…" he said, "Do you want booze? 'Cause I can pick the lock and get some from Stark's office."

Their boss kept a bottle of whisky or the like in one of his drawer at all times, to get out after especially grueling cases. They were going to get killed the next morning for stealing it, but Rossi really needed a drink if Leroy was going to cry.

"That'd be great actually. And can you get a pack of cigarettes from my desk?"

Rossi was happy to oblige; anything to make this easier. It turned out that there was an unopened bottle of bourbon in Stark's desk drawer and suppressing the guilt at more or less stealing from his boss Rossi took it and two glasses. He'd buy Stark a new one. Leroy usually kept a few packs of cigarettes in his top drawer and Rossi grabbed one before hurrying back to Leroy.

The other man had lit his cigarette by now and was smoking intently with closed eyes. Rossi took a seat next to him and silently handed him a glass, filling it with the alcohol and then doing the same for himself.

Having no idea what to say, Rossi watched in silence as Leroy downed the liquid in one gulp.

"You realize we're dead tomorrow," he said. Ross shrugged.

"And that would be different from normal how exactly…?"

Leroy chuckled mirthlessly in reply before stubbing the cigarette, lighting another one and pouring himself another glass. Rossi followed suit, minus the cigarette.

"I was a good son," Leroy said after a while, his voice still a bit rough. Not knowing what else to do, Rossi just nodded. "And I mean… I was never neglected; there were always people who took care of me and gave me affection and stuff. But… she never even looked at me!"

Rossi hummed sympathetically, filling both their glasses again. He supposed alcohol wouldn't really help, but then again nothing would and sometimes it was just easier to forget things for a while than to deal with them.

Before long they were plastered. Downing hard liquor without pause tended to do that to a guy. Leroy had managed to slump down even further and was now stretched out on the floor on his side, still smoking. Rossi had somehow managed to retain enough of his balance to sit up straight, albeit with _a lot_ of support from the wall.

"I just want her to love me," Leroy mumbled, his words slurred. Rossi reached out a hand to pat his leg comfortingly.

"_I_ love you," he said, "I do. Like… a lot. But not like I want to sleep with you or anything. More like… I want to, I don't know… I mean… you're like… my brother. Yeah. My brother."

"I was a good son," Leroy continued, either not hearing or just ignoring Rossi, "I was. Why doesn't she love me?"

"And Stark is like our dad, 'cept he's like… from Georgia and you're from France and I'm not from Italy but my mom is so that's kind of weird 'cause we're not from the same country."

"I did what she wanted me to. I got my degree and I joined the military. It wasn't my fault I couldn't do it anymore. It wasn't my fault."

"He's gonna kill us, isn't he? 'Cause he doesn't like it when we get drunk, you know."

"Pourquoi elle ne m'aime pas? J'êtait un bon fils."

Deciding that the conversation was a lost cause at that point, since Leroy was speaking very slurred French, Rossi put away the glass he realized he was still holding and lay down, using Leroy's conveniently placed legs as a pillow. His sense of time was rather off at that point so he had no idea how much time passed before he felt Leroy's hand on his head.

"'Love you too, by the way," he mumbled, and though he might have said something more Rossi pretty much passed out at that point so he didn't hear him.

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><p><strong>AN2: A few notes: first of all, I speak very bad French so don't be surprised if my grammar is completely of. Second of all (in case anyone's interested, which I kind of doubt) Leroy stopped smoking when he married Jo. **


	16. December 16

**A/N:**** I seem to be writing a lot of Gideon and Hotch right now... I hope nobody minds. :)**

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><p>Paperwork was one of the things Gideon hated about his job. How could anyone have thought it was a good idea that all seven of them write a separate report for every case? Wasn't one report enough? It had been back in the days, and that had worked out fine.<p>

Sighing deeply and tiredly rubbing his forehead, Gideon leafed through the report in front of him. To take some of the burden off Hotch's shoulders he had offered to read Reid's and Morgan's reports and Reid's writing, whereas precise and meticulously correct, didn't exactly make for easy reading. Did the boy have to specify _everything_? Gideon highly doubted that the higher-ups were interested in exactly how long every car ride they had made had been.

When a soft knock on his door interrupted his work, he was grateful. Except, of course, if it turned out to be Reid who with Gideon's luck would probably have another fifteen pages or so.

Fortunately, it wasn't; it was Hotch, giving a small smile as he saw the exasperation clearly written across Gideon's face.

"Let me guess, Reid's report?" he said, his smile widening at Gideon's frustrated confirmation, "Do you have a minute?"

Only too happy to leave the paperwork for a while and to be honest very much curious about what Hotch wanted, Gideon nodded.

"Sure. Take a seat."

Hotch took up his offer, lowering himself into one of Gideon's chair with a small sigh. Apparently Gideon wasn't the only one who was tired of paperwork.

For a while they sat in silence, Hotch gazing out the window with a distant expression. Then he turned back to Gideon, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture.

"Me and Haley decided on a name," he began, continuing at Gideon's nod, "Jack. Well, Jonathan, really. It means 'gift of God'."

A bit puzzled as to where this was going, Gideon nodded. "It's a good name."

Hotch nodded, a bit dismissively, and Gideon's curiosity grew. If he had no doubts about the appropriateness of the name, then what was the problem? The younger man wasn't there just to announce the news; that much Gideon could easily see. Maybe there were problems with Haley. Maybe she disagreed about the name, but then Hotch wouldn't have said that they had decided. Or maybe Hotch was just generally insecure about his fathering abilities. As usual.

"We want to give him a middle name, too" Hotch continued, now looking out the window again.

"Mm-hmm?" Gideon prompted after a moment. Hotch bit his lip slightly, frowning, before looking down at his hands in what was almost a glare.

"I want to name him David," he said quietly and Gideon immediately understood the problem. David Rossi was the closest thing to a father Hotch had – hell, he _was_ Hotch's father, except biologically – and it made sense that Hotch would want to name his son after him.

But, and this was the problem, Hotch still didn't quite believe in the concept of anyone loving him unconditionally and he'd feel insecure about such a thing as naming his son after Rossi.

"Dave will love that," Gideon said lightly, purposefully avoiding the real issue to reassure Hotch that there was nothing to it, "He'll be even more insufferable. And you better prepare to have your kid spoiled incessantly."

The younger man smiled slightly in response, but he obviously wasn't convinced.

"You don't think… he'll mind? I mean… he's not really my… We're not really related."

Gideon shrugged. "Hotch, I can honestly tell you that I can think of very few things that Dave would love more than having your son named after him."

"You're sure?" Hotch asked, frowning. Gideon nodded sincerely. He was more certain of this than he had been of something in a long time. Rossi loved Hotch.

"But he'll be angry if you don't tell him before the baptism, you know," Gideon then remarked. Hotch looked surprised for a moment, then he nodded.

"I suppose that's true," he said, before standing up and brushing away some imaginary dust from his pants, "Thanks, Jason."

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><p><strong>TBC, probably tomorrow<strong>


	17. December 17

**A/N: This is the continuation of yesterday's chapter. Hope you like!**

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><p>Gideon was a great profiler. Hotch had no doubts about that. His judgment of criminals and suspects were usually spot on and he understood the human mind as well as anybody Hotch had ever met.<p>

However, Hotch wasn't quite convinced that he knew what he was talking about when he said that Rossi would have no problem with Jack's second name being David. After all, Rossi wasn't really his father or anything. He might not want Hotch's son to carry his name.

Which was why Hotch was pacing nervously outside a small restaurant, waiting for Rossi to arrive. When Hotch had asked to see him, Rossi had readily agreed to have lunch with him, naming a small place that they both liked. Only a few minutes late, Rossi rounded a corner and greeted Hotch with a wide smile.

"Aaron," he said, giving Hotch a quick hug, "It's been too long."

"Only three months," Hotch replied, returning the smile. Rossi waved off the remark and together they entered the restaurant, taking a seat at a table by the window and accepting two menus from a waiter.

Disinterestedly leafing through it, Rossi glanced at Hotch with a curious expression. "So… what's on your mind?"

Deciding that pretending he had only called because he wanted to see Rossi was pointless, the older man was one of the founders of the BAU after all, Hotch sighed and put down his menu to look straightly at Rossi.

"Me and Haley decided on a name," he said, figuring that he might as well go with an already tried formula, "Jack. Jonathan. Means 'gift of God'."

Rossi nodded. "Okay. Good name. So what's bothering you?"

Hotch couldn't help but smile slightly at how much more direct Rossi was compared to Gideon. The other agent usually just waited Hotch out, now and again humming in question, whereas Rossi got straight to the point.

"We want to give him a middle name and… I want to name him David," Hotch got out in a rush and then added, just to be completely clear, "After you."

To his complete mortification, the older man's eyes filled with tears at that. Sure, Rossi might not be comfortable with his former colleague's son bearing his name, but it wasn't anything to cry over, right? Surely Hotch hadn't misjudged things that badly.

"Aaron…" Rossi said huskily, quickly swiping a hand over his eyes, "I… I don't know what to say. I'm… honored."

"So you don't mind?"

"Mind?" Rossi exclaimed with a somewhat teary laugh, "Aaron, I… This is one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me. And I've had three weddings."

Drawing a small sigh of relief, Hotch allowed himself a smile. "I guess I was a bit worried. Jason said you wouldn't mind, but…"

Rossi smirked. "Don't tell him I said so, but he has his moments. Seriously, though; I can't tell you how much this means to me."

Hotch smiled in reply, not sure what to say. Rossi was happy. That was good.

"David means 'beloved', you know," Hotch continued after a while. Rossi nodded.

"Yeah, I know. Appropriate, ain't it?"

Chuckling at the smirk on Rossi's face, Hotch inclined his head. "Well, you mother loves you…"

"Hey!" Rossi protested, mock-affronted, but the smile on his face didn't disappear as he turned his attention to the menu again. "I think I'm gonna have the ravioli…"

He did and it, as well as Hotch's lasagna, was excellent, as usual. They chatted about work, news and common acquaintances and gradually Hotch began to suspect that maybe it had been ridiculous to doubt that Rossi would approve of having Hotch's son named after him. Because this level of comfort, this complete relaxation, Hotch hardly even had with Haley and he supposed it was stupid to think that he'd feel that way with someone who was just a colleague.

They finished lunch, ending it with coffee. Rossi insisted on taking care of the tab and they then walked out together.

Turning to face him, Rossi put a hand on his shoulder and gave him an earnest look. "Aaron… This really does mean a lot to me. I love you."

He hugged Hotch once again, this time more tightly, and held on for a while before pulling back and giving Hotch a smile that did look a bit teary. Embarrassed, or at least feeling a bit awkward, Hotch returned the smile.

"Thanks," he said, "I… I love you too."

Rossi's soft smile assured him that the older man wasn't offended at how awkward it was for him to say the words back. At least these days he could say them.

"Well, I expect a front row seat at the baptism," Rossi said with a final smile and a pat to Hotch's shoulder, "Good bye, Aaron."

"Good bye, Dave," Hotch replied, for a moment looking after his old friend before turning and heading back to his car. He had a baptism to plan.


	18. December 18

**A/N: A late birthday gift for lovesreidforever. It's kind of short, but I hope you like it! :)**

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><p><em>He was alone. He wasn't sure where; the square room was empty and had nothing that might reveal his location. The walls were plain white, almost blinding him with their brightness. There were no windows and no door and he was beginning to feel the claustrophobia creeping up on him. Just what was going on?<em>

_Suddenly, one of the walls disappeared and he immediately jumped up to escape the room, only to come headfirst into a pane of glass, falling back onto the floor. Rubbing at his now throbbing forehead, he sat up straight again and looked out the window._

_To his surprise, he saw Prentiss, JJ and Garcia outside. He waved, getting up on his knees. The women were looking at him with curious expressions and when he waved they made 'isn't it adorable'-faces. He frowned._

_"Hey! Emily!" he yelled but she didn't seem to hear him, "JJ! Garcia?"_

_The other two didn't hear him either, just laughed and exchanged some words with each other before moving on._

_Dejected, and confused, he sat down again, frowning thoughtfully._

_After only a few minutes he perked up again. Rossi, Gideon and Morgan were passing by his window. He waved before moving over to the window and pressing his hands against it, hoping that they would notice him._

_But they too only laughed, Rossi saying something to Gideon that caused the retired agent to smile._

_"Rossi? Morgan?" he tried, hitting the glass with his palm, but they only watched him with amused expressions. "Gideon?"_

_They watched him for a moment longer, apparently not hearing him, before walking away._

_"Jason!" he shouted after the retreating figures, but they just kept walking._

_Now really frightened and on the verge of tears, he sat down once again and bit his lip in thought. What was going on? Why were they just staring at him and ignoring him?_

_To his relief he then caught sight of Hotch passing by, Jack holding his hand. He could trust Hotch. Hotch would help him get out of this strange room. The two stopped in front of the window, Hotch listening to his son with a small smile as he said something._

_"Hotch!" Reid said, "I'm so glad you're here! Everyone is just ignoring me and I need to get out of this room."_

_But Hotch didn't reply; just smiled wider as Jack laughed and ruffled his son's hair before they both walked away._

_"Hotch!" Reid shouted, now desperately banging his fists against the glass, "Hotch! Please, Hotch! Hotch!"_

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><p>Suddenly he became aware of someone shaking him and after blinking a few times, realizing that he'd just opened his eyes, he saw Morgan's face hovering just above him. Drawing a deep breath, he gave a shaky smile.<p>

"Just a nightmare," he managed to croak out after swallowing a few times.

"Didn't sound like it was 'just' a nightmare," Morgan replied, raising his eyebrows skeptically, and pulling away enough to let Reid sit up, "You probably woke the whole hotel up."

Frowning in irritation, Reid shook off the hand still on his shoulder. It wasn't as if it was his fault that he had a nightmare. "Well, I'm sorry. I'll do better next time."

"Hey!" Morgan protested, raising his hands in a placating manner, "I'm not complaining, I'm just saying that it sounded pretty bad. Wanna talk about it?"

Reid shook his head. He definitely did not want to talk about it; just dreaming it was enough. The frequency of his nightmares had decreased over the years. He still had them, just not every night. And whereas talking about them might have had something to do with that it didn't mean that he needed to share every nightmare he had with Morgan or someone else from the team.

"You were begging Hotch to do something," Morgan said, sounding casual to the untrained ear. But Reid knew better.

"Yeah. Like I said, it was a nightmare. No big deal."

Morgan hesitated, then continued. "Look, kid… Hotch is in the next room. He heard and I can guarantee you that he'll want to know what this was about or at least make sure there's nothing to worry about. You talk to me, I'll let him know everything's cool. So it's basically me or Hotch."

Hotch was great and Reid would trust him with his life without even thinking about it, but there were things he didn't want to discuss with the older man. Nightmares was one of them, because even though he knew intellectually that Hotch wouldn't think he was weak or something like that he couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed about having them.

"Okay…" Reid relented, "I'll tell you."

"All right. Good."

With another deep breath, Reid plunged on. "I was in this room and… and there was a window. And… you guys were walking by, but you didn't see me. I… called out for you but you didn't hear me."

"And that's why you were calling out for Hotch," Morgan said, nodding in understanding.

They were silent for a while, then Morgan spoke up. "It's pretty obvious what it means, you know."

Reid shrugged, not meeting Morgan's eyes. "There's no proof for the accuracy of dream analysis."

"It's not exactly dream analysis, kid, it's just common sense," Morgan retorted, his voice still gentle, "Do you really feel that alienated?"

Biting his lower lip, Reid shook his head. He didn't, at least not consciously. Not with the team. He often felt that they didn't really understand him when he explained something interesting, but at least they didn't mock him. If he was really excited about something they listened and tried to follow his admittedly rather jumbled explanations. But he was afraid. Afraid that maybe he was just imagining his sense of belonging, that maybe he was just as distant from everyone else as before.

"No, I don't," he said, making a small grimace, "It's just… What if I am?"

He whispered the last words, a bit afraid to even voice them. What if Morgan confirmed his fears? What if Morgan said that he was stupid to ever have thought that he could belong somewhere?

"Reid…" Morgan began, sounding very serious, "Look at me."

Hesitantly, Reid obeyed. Morgan's eyes were kind as he put both his hands on Reid's shoulders.

"You're family, Reid. To all of us. We don't always understand you, but that doesn't mean anything. You're like my brother, kid. I'd never walk away from you."

His eyes filling with tears, Reid gratefully accepted the offered embrace, letting Morgan wrap his arms around him. Brother. He liked that.


	19. December 19

**A/N: Some more young!Hotch, with some Jack thrown in for good measure. :)** **References to spanking in this one. **

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><p>Not able to hold back the tires sigh that wanted to escape, Hotch rubbed the bridge of his nose in what he suspected would prove to be a vain attempt to stave off a headache. Weren't kids supposed to do what you told them to? Instead, his six year old son was stubbornly refusing to go to bed, in spite of it being half an hour past his bedtime. A bedtime which, by the way, was rather liberal.<p>

"Jack…" Hotch said, trying to sound patient, "It's past your bedtime. We've talked about this."

His son emphatically shook his head. "I'm not tired, Daddy."

"Well, that doesn't really matter, buddy," Hotch replied, throwing a glance behind him at Rossi who was sitting at the kitchen table. He didn't really think Rossi would deem him a failure as a father because he couldn't get Jack to obey him, but he still felt a bit embarrassed about it. He _had _spoken to Jack about this, and normally his son had no problem with his bedtime. So why did he have to be difficult on the night that Rossi had come over for dinner?

"Yes, it does," Jack argued, sounding very serious for a boy his age, "You sleep because you're tired. So if I'm not tired I shouldn't go to bed."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Hotch silently told himself to keep calm. "Even if you don't feel tired your body needs a certain amount of sleep. Since you're still growing your body needs a lot of energy, so you also need more sleep than a grown up. That's why you have a bedtime."

Jack bit his lip, looking deep in thought for a moment. Then he frowned. "But since I'm not tired I won't be able to go to sleep so it's better if I stay up."

"Jack." Hotch cautioned sternly. He'd explained the reasoning behind the rule; when Jack still didn't obey he really could do nothing else but order.

"But, Daddy!" his son whined, pouting, "I don't want to go to bed!"

"Well, you _are _going to bed. Now"

His son's lower lip started to wobble and with a furious expression on his normally amiable face, he stomped his foot. "I don't wanna!"

"Jonathan. Bed. Now."

Hotch rarely used his son's full name. He and Haley had planned for him to be called Jack, but somehow it had seemed more appropriate with a more 'proper' name. Now he was grateful for it; having something to signal that Jack was seriously pushing it had proved to be very effective. Which wasn't that strange considering that Rossi using Hotch's full name still usually made Hotch scramble to do as he was told.

After a moment, the conflict clear on his face, Jack turned around and stomped off to his room.

"Sorry about that," Hotch said, turning to Rossi with an apologetic expression. To his surprise, Rossi was grinning, looking after Jack with a fond look. "What..?"

"Just remembering having the same conversation with you," Rossi replied, still smiling, "A number of times."

Hotch felt a warm blush creeping up his face. He wanted to protest that it hadn't been the same thing, but realized that he couldn't without sounding like a petulant child. And he didn't do petulant. Besides, he supposed there had been some similar arguments…

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm not tired<em>, Dave," a much younger Hotch insisted angrily, standing in front of, an irritatingly enough still very calm, Rossi's desk. Why couldn't the older man realize that he didn't need to take a nap? He needed to work.

"Aaron…" Rossi replied, closing his eyes and giving an exasperated sigh, "You _obviously _are. Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately? You look like a freakin' vampire or something."

Frowning at the slur, Hotch crossed his arms and tried to ignore the impulse to stomp his foot. "I'm naturally pale."

Rossi raised an eyebrow, looking very skeptical. "You naturally have black rings around your eyes as well? Got panda ancestors I don't know about?"

"This isn't _funny_, Dave," Hotch snapped.

"Damn right it isn't. You need to take care of yourself, kid."

Normally, Hotch didn't much mind being called kid. He even sort of liked the affection the word showed. But right now, for some reason, it grated on his nerves. He _wasn't _a kid. He was a grown man and he didn't need to be told when to eat or when to sleep or the dozen other things that Rossi seemed to like giving him orders about. He was an adult and he could take care of himself.

"I'm _not _a kid!" he argued, his jaw clenched tightly, "I know when I'm tired and need to sleep and I'm not tired right now!"

"No? And just how much sleep did you get last night? And the night before that?"

Deciding that this line questioning wouldn't exactly help proving his point, Hotch ignored Rossi and just kept glaring at him with his arms crossed. And he definitely was _not _pouting.

"You're not answering? I'd say that tells me all I need to know. Just do as you're told, for once."

"I always do what you tell me!" Hotch retorted, "It's not my fault you're being unreasonable."

Rossi spread his arms incredulously. "Unreasonable? Aaron, you're practically dead on your feet. I'd say I'm pretty damn reasonable. Hell, I'm lenient! I should spank you for being an idiot!"

His anger increasing at the sort of threat, Hotch's impulse to stomp his foot grew. But since he was a reasonable adult he resisted it, instead just glaring at Rossi. "You can't sp- punish me for doing my job!"

"No, but I can spank you for doing your best to kill yourself and I can certainly spank you for giving me attitude when you should be apologizing!" Rossi snapped back, slapping his palm against the desk, "You know what? Here's the deal: corner or sofa. Your choice, kid."

Hotch wanted nothing more than to tell Rossi to go to hell and storm out of the office, but he felt fairly certain that _would _lead to at the very least a few swats. Besides, he _was_ kind of tired and if it would make Rossi happy he supposed he could lie down for a while. It wasn't as if he'd be taking a nap during work hours like some cranky child; he would just be resting his eyes for a while to placate his boss.

Quietly, still glaring at Rossi, he walked over to the sofa by the wall and sat down. He didn't bother taking off his jacket, because he wasn't going to sleep anyway. Rossi's sofa was comfortable, surprisingly so, and Hotch couldn't help himself from curling up slightly and adjusting one of the pillows under his head.

And despite his very firm resolve not to fall asleep, Hotch soon felt his eyelids growing heavy and a yawn made its way up his throat. Maybe he could sleep for a little while.

As sleep quickly crept up on him, his annoyance and ager melted away and was replaced by some embarrassment and a touch of guilt. It wasn't entirely fair to yell at Rossi when he was only trying to look out for his wellbeing. The older man had sort of been right about Hotch needing some sleep.

"Dave?" he mumbled, voice a bit slurred from the sleep rapidly overtaking him.

"Yeah?"

"'M sorry I yelled at you."

"That's okay, kiddo. I'm sorry I lost my patience. It's understandable that you're cranky when you're tired. Get some sleep now and I'll wake you up in time for dinner, okay?"

"M'kay," Hotch replied, not even managing to be annoyed at being called cranky. He _was_ really tired and when sleep overtook him just moments later he was, if anything, relieved.

* * *

><p>"I suppose there might have been somewhat similar conversations," Hotch admitted with a small smile. Rossi snorted and shook his head slightly.<p>

"I'd say Jack's a lot better behaved then you were when you were cranky," he said and Hotch's blush reappeared. There it was again, that very annoying word. Cranky. He really wished people would refrain from using it in connection with him. But again, he couldn't really find a good way of protesting without sounding like he was whining, so he changed the subject.

"Do you mind if I leave you for a minute? I need to check on Jack. Tell him I'm not angry."

Rossi smiled and waved his hand in the general direction of Jack's room. "Go ahead. Tell him goodnight from me."

Hotch nodded, flashing Rossi a grateful smile, before he turned and headed for his son's room. Jack knew he wouldn't lose his father's love over anything, but Hotch still felt better reassuring him. Maybe because that was what Rossi had always done for him.


	20. December 20

**A/N: More Jack, people! :)**

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><p>Daddy has a really big family.<p>

Mommy's family is a lot smaller: only Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Jessica and Uncle Peter. And we don't see Grandma and Grandpa a lot because they don't like Daddy and then I don't like them. Daddy pretends he doesn't mind seeing them but I can tell it makes him sad. Aunt Jessica doesn't like Grandma and Grandpa all that much either. She doesn't say so but she always looks mad when they're mean to Daddy. Uncle Peter is married to Aunt Jessica and he's really nice. He likes Daddy.

That's four people and it's not a _really _small family but it's kind of small. It's a lot smaller than Daddy's family. And I think that they're maybe not really, really my family because we're not _related_ but they all _think_ they're my family and they all really like Daddy and me so they're family anyway.

Daddy doesn't have any parents that he grew up with. When I ask about them he only says that they're dead but I think that means he didn't like them very much. Mommy is dead too but everyone says that she's with the angels. No-one says that Daddy's parents are with the angels.

And when I ask Uncle Dave about Daddy's parents he looks sad, so I think he didn't like them a whole lot either. And sometimes I wonder about them, but mostly not, because I already have Uncle Dave. Uncle Dave isn't really Daddy's dad but he sort of is anyways. I'm not really supposed to see it but when Daddy cries Uncle Dave hugs him and makes him feel better like Daddy does for me. It's a bit unfair that Daddy doesn't have to do what Uncle Dave says but everyone says that that's because Daddy is a grown-up.

I don't call Uncle Dave grandpa because he says that would make him feel old. Daddy said that wouldn't that be a good thing since he'd be in touch with reality or something like that. I didn't really get it but everyone laughed so it must have been funny. Uncle Dave laughed too and then he said that if I wanted to he supposed I could call him grandpa but I still call him Uncle Dave.

But I call Uncle Dave's mom grandma, except in Italian since she's from Italy. And even though Nonna must be really old she doesn't look like it. I told Uncle Dave that and he just laughed and said I was a little Casanova in the makings. Daddy said not to be a bad influence. Nonna is really nice, though. She makes really tasty food and cookies and hugs and kisses me a lot. She hugs and kisses Daddy and Uncle Dave and everyone else, too, which is nice because Daddy likes it when she hugs him.

He likes it when Aunt Jo hugs him too. Aunt Jo is Uncle Dave's friend and even though we don't see her and Uncle Alex that much because they live far away Daddy really likes them. I like them too. Uncle Alex hugs me and kisses me and calls me strange things in French and Aunt Jo laughs at him and calls me sweetie. Besides, they make Daddy laugh _and _they bring me gifts.

Then there's everyone else Daddy works with. It's not so scary that Daddy's away all the time when I know he has all my uncles and aunts with him to help him catch the bad guys.

I see Daddy's team a lot, because they come over to dinner and we all eat dinner at Uncle Dave's house. I see Aunt JJ and Uncle Spencer the most, though. Aunt JJ because she's Henry's mom and even if Henry's really small he's kind of fun. Aunt JJ is fun too and she's really good at reading stories. She's married to Uncle Will who's a policeman.

Uncle Spencer is around a lot because Daddy says he can't take care of himself. I think he might be right because he always seems very hungry when he eats with us, like no-one gives him any food at home. I asked Uncle Spencer if he doesn't have any parents who can take care of him and he said that this mom was sick but that he sort of had someone who sometimes took care of him. He was very confusing, but I think he was talking about Uncle Jason.

Uncle Jason is like Uncle Spencer's dad. He's not always at home, though, because he's out travelling and I suppose that it's then that Uncle Spencer needs to come and eat with us. And sometimes Uncle Spencer stays with us when he's grounded, which is actually kind of a lot. I asked Daddy if I would be in trouble a lot when I was as old as Uncle Spencer and he said that he hoped not because then he wouldn't have done that good of a job. I'm not sure I understood what he meant but he laughed so it was okay anyways.

The rest of Daddy's team don't visit as often. Uncle Derek has two sisters and a mom, but they live far away so I've only met them once. I asked him if he didn't have a dad as well, but he said that his dad was with the angels. So since his mom doesn't live here either he can borrow Daddy and Uncle Dave when he needs to. But I think that Uncle Derek doesn't need a dad as much as Uncle Spencer does, because he doesn't seem as hungry all the time.

Aunt Emily went away to heaven, but then she came back. That was a bit confusing, because I didn't think you could come back from heaven. But Daddy explained that she hadn't really gone to heaven, she just had to pretend that because there was a bad man who wanted to hurt her. I'm glad that she's back, though. Daddy was sad that she went away and I think she was sad too, because when she came back she hugged me for a long time and started crying. I was a bit worried that I'd made her sad again, but she said that she was crying because she was happy.

Someone who _always _seems happy is Aunt Penny. She always wears really colorful clothes and she talks funny. She calls me even stranger things than Uncle Alex, and she calls everyone else things too. Mostly she calls Uncle Derek things and I think that they might be bad words because Daddy always glares at her when she says them. But Uncle Derek doesn't seem mad, though, so I don't know. She always gives me and Henry a lot of gifts, too.

Mr. Kevin is Aunt Penny's boyfriend. He's kind of funny. And I think he's a bit scared of Daddy, but that's only because he sees Daddy at work and then Daddy has to have his work face on.

That's kind of a lot of people. They wouldn't all fit in our house so when we all get together we're at Uncle Dave's house. He says it isn't a house because it's a mansion but I'm not sure what that means. I think it just looks like a really big house.

But it doesn't really matter. Everyone is really happy when we're there and Daddy laughs and even though I always fall asleep before we're all finished and I wake up in my own bed the next morning, except if we stay the night which we do sometimes, it's really nice.


	21. December 21 except not really

**A/N: All right, so it isn't Christmas anymore and this is several months late (it's also a few days late, which you'll see), but since I don't really have anywhere better to put this and there _was_ supposed to be twenty-five chapters, here you go!**

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><p>Jo spoke to Aaron at least once a week. Usually more, and if she also counted the times her husband spoke to him – which she was somewhat inclined to do, since she was most often in the same room – it was at least twice a week. If she counted the times she spoke to Aaron indirectly by telling Dave to tell him something, the count rose and if she counted the even more indirect circumstances when she told Alex to tell Dave to tell Aaron something, it was beginning to get close to every day. To be honest this was mostly because her husband and Dave seemed to be hit by severe separation anxiety if they went over twenty-four hours without speaking to each other, but the fact was that it was rare for more than a few days to go by without her hearing from Aaron in some way or another.<p>

So maybe it really shouldn't mean anything that she once a year got a call on the same day from the man; a call that didn't really contain anything special, but Jo knew, without doubt, that Aaron was perfectly aware of the fact that he called her at almost exactly the same time every Mother's Day.

Aaron didn't really consider her a surrogate mother; more of an aunt, with Dave as his father figure. But as sad as it was, that still made Jo pretty much the closest thing to a proper mother he had. As far as Jo knew Aaron's biological mother hadn't really been that bad, at least compared to his father, but she hadn't left her son without any doubts whatsoever that he was worthy of unconditional love, which in Jo's book left her as something of a failure as a mother. Besides, the woman was dead now and had been for a few years, which left Jo as the main female caretaker in Aaron's world.

Which he apparently agreed on, if his calls every Mother's Day for over a decade were anything to go by. The first few years he hadn't really said anything he didn't say every time he called, but then again in those years he rarely called her directly at all, still unsure if his call would be welcomed. Then for a few years he'd ended every call with a sincere, emphasized "have a good day".

This year, though, his call had ended differently. To begin with it had been as usual; they'd chattered amiably about what had happened the last few days, about Aaron's new love interest and about Jack. Toward the end of the call, however, Aaron's demeanor had shifted slightly and there was a note of nervous hesitation in his voice. Jo, knowing him as well as she did, didn't push. The conversation dwindled off and Jo was just about to end the call when Aaron spoke.

"Jo" he said and then abruptly stopped. Not sure what to make of his sudden pronouncement, Jo waited a moment before prompting him gently.

"Yes?"

"Happy Mother's Day."


	22. December 22 except even more not really

**A/N: This is well over a year late, but I figured I might as well try to get it to 25 chapters even if it takes a lot longer than planned. **

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><p>Hotch really can't tell when it changed. When pictures of happy families and the TV show depicting the idyllic American family stopped bringing up anger and pain and memories of blows and loud arguments, and instead brought up Jack's wide smile, dinners with the team – complete with Reid's stumbling attempts at eating with chop sticks and Rossi's comments that his mother's lasagna or carbonara was ten times better – and Leroy and Jo showing up with gifts and hugs.<p>

He doesn't know when "uncle" stopped being a hole in his chest that he blamed for the years of no-one noticing and became a somewhat gangly Frenchman who drove too fast. When talk about so-much-cooler-than-dad uncles stopped being empty to him and became Leroy remarking on his time in Serbia or siding with Hotch when he wanted to do something that Rossi thought was too dangerous or getting into a shoving match with Rossi about the Soccer World Cup.

He doesn't know when pulling away and rolling his eyes in exasperation about the kisses planted by mothers and aunts went from complete incomprehension that someone might reject such affection to embarrassment at Mrs. Rossi's numerous kisses and hugs and at Jo's constant endearments. When "mothering" stopped being another word for "parenting" – which was making rules and supplying with clothes – and became patted cheeks, warm soft hugs and tsk-ing about not eating enough.

He doesn't know when the small, reflexive pang of fear that Jo telling her husband when he was being an idiot would bring about more than a glare disappeared, or when Rossi and Leroy shouting at each other with faces only inches apart brought about exasperation rather than fear (and that might, to be honest, have something to do with the realization that neither of them shouted when they were _really _angry; they turned cold and quiet, like Rossi's icy "say the word and they're dead" and Leroy's added "I was in intelligence for ten years. I don't leave traces").

He doesn't know when discipline stopped being backhanded blows over his cheekbones, a belt tearing into the skin of his back and tears he refused to let fall, and became something he couldn't really hate, something that he even welcomed – at least when he wasn't directly experiencing it. He doesn't know when he stopped fearing that any time he raised his voice he would become his father or when the thought of disciplining someone sent him into a panic.

He doesn't know when "father" went from a cold, distant man whose approval he desperately and fruitlessly sought after to a warm, always present Italian whose approval was given without question. When fear of being a disappointment somehow melted away from his thoughts and the grim look on Rossi's face when he did something wrong up was no longer an indication that he might have messed things up permanently.

He doesn't know when the idea of someone loving him unconditionally started making sense.


	23. December 23 but still not really

**A/N: I'm back with more Criminal Minds! **

**I know I haven't been posting much here lately, but if you're interested there's some stuff at my livejournal, here: libertythistle .livejournal (There's a link on my profiler page as well.)**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this very late addition! :)**

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><p>Morgan wasn't sure what time it was when the unidentifiable sensation of having someone watching him made him look up from his paperwork and catch sight of Rossi leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, studying Morgan with a thoughtful look.<p>

"Rossi?"

The older man straightened. "Do you know what time it is?" he asked without preamble, tone neutral rather than accusing. Morgan frowned at him nevertheless, because he had a pretty good idea what this was a prelude to.

"Not exactly," he replied, also keeping his voice carefully non-confrontational. Rossi raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the office and walked over to casually lean against Morgan's desk.

"But approximately?" he asked, but continued without waiting for an answer, "It's late. Too late to be working."

"With respect, Rossi, it's not really any of your business."

And it wasn't, not really.

Rossi, however, seemed to disagree. "It's not any of my business?" he echoed disbelievingly, something which Morgan had quickly realized was always a bad sign. So in an attempt at placating the other man, he raised his hands.

"Okay, okay. It is your business. But I think you're wrong. Hotch's still here."

"No, he's not. I sent him home. Like I'm sending you home right now," Rossi stated, far too offhandedly for what he was saying, "And before you try any crap about being the boss, you should know that Hotch tried that once. It didn't work out for him."

Morgan hadn't actually been about to bring that argument up; he had seen how casually Rossi gave Hotch orders – and how he handled being disobeyed – and had never entertained any real hope that his temporary promotion would give him any leeway with Rossi. He was kind of curious about Hotch's, probably very short, rebellion, though. If he was ever in the mood for some death-defiance he might ask the man.

"I need to get this done," he said instead, gesturing to the pile of papers in front of him, "I'll head home straight after that."

"No. You'll head home _now_. There's nothing here that can't wait."

"Rossi…" Morgan began, but he was immediately interrupted by the man raising his hand.

"No, Derek. Look, I know it's important to you that you do a good job as Unit Chief and that you need to fill Hotch's shoes. And you do, but…" Rossi trailed off, making a small grimace, "This is said in confidence, okay? Aaron… holds himself up to impossible standards. He has high standards for others as well, but for himself… he never thinks he does enough. You need to think about that when you compare your working hours to his."

"I get that," Morgan replied, frowning, "I know Hotch pushes himself too hard, and I'm not planning on starting doing twenty-hour days, but I _need_ to get this done. Strauss wants these reports first thing in the morning."

"I'm sure she does, but she doesn't expect you to stay up until midnight working on them. Just tell her there was a delay. You getting enough sleep is more important than Erin getting everything she wants. And why didn't you ask me for help?"

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Did _Hotch_ ever ask you for help?"

"You're not Hotch," Rossi said. Before Morgan could begin to feel hurt by the words, he grimaced and rushed on, "That came out wrong. I don't mean you're not as good an agent as Hotch, I mean that there's no reason you should emulate his bad habits. You've had it rough enough on your own, kiddo."

The kind, sad smile on Rossi's face as he said the last words made Morgan suspect he knew more of Morgan's background than he had been told. Briefly, he considered the idea that Hotch had told him, but the other man would never betray such a personal secret without permission. Morgan guessed Rossi was just that good a profiler.

"Besides," Rossi continued, "you'll do great. You've done great so far and you're a natural at this. You'll make Hotch proud."

There was an uncomfortable touch of heat in Morgan's face at that, because he still wasn't sure how he felt about wanting Hotch's approval.

"Now put those away. I'm sure you don't want one of your first memories of your new office to be getting a spanking in it."

"Seriously, man?" Morgan said, raising his eyebrows skeptically. While he put away the files he had working on.

Rossi just gave him a lopsided smile, waiting until Morgan had put on his jacket and then put a hand on his back, steering him toward the exit. "I know you hate being told to go to bed. Believe me," he said in a tone that made Morgan think that he really did know. Another thing he should ask about some time. "But the BAU has had… issues with agents getting to little sleep."

Morgan gave him a sideways look. "Yeah?"

"Well, when we were still the BSU, mostly. You know who Jonathan Reece was? About a year after we started, he burned out. Except, a bit too literally." At Morgan's prompting glance, Rossi continued. "He fell asleep while smoking. Set fire to his desk, his jacket and about a dozen case files."

"Seriously?"

"Sure. Our office smelled of smoke for weeks. The Bureau wouldn't fumigate, 'cause they thought we were already costing too much just by existing. I've been thinking about calling Reece and telling him we have a jet now. He'll probably try to sue the Bureau."

"For what?" Morgan chuckled, a bit disbelievingly.

Rossi looked thoughtful for a moment, though still smiling. "I have no idea, actually. I'm just pretty sure he'd try."

Morgan chuckled again, and kept chuckling as Rossi continued relating strange and sometimes quite alarming stories about the early days of the BSU, leading him toward the building's garage and into the car, rather sneakily not pausing in his story-telling to give Morgan any opportunity to protest that he could drive on his own. During the short drive Rossi kept telling stories and when they pulled up outside his apartment building, Morgan had become pretty convinced that it was only due to pure luck that the early profiler team hadn't either burned down the building, been prosecuted for breaking federal laws or just generally collapsed.

"You should put some of this stuff in your next book," Morgan said. Rossi smiled wryly.

"It'd sell, but it definitely wouldn't be worth the amount of trouble it'd get me. Get inside and go to bed now. I'll pick you up tomorrow. Wait, have you had dinner?"

"Yes, mom, I've had dinner."

Rossi gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look. "You never know with you kids," he grumbled and just after Morgan had unbuckled his seatbelt, he continued, "And Derek? This isn't a onetime thing. I expect you to keep reasonable hours. You really don't want me to give you a bedtime."

Since he was in completely agreement with Rossi on that point, Morgan nodded his acknowledgement, smiling. "Got it. And… thanks."


	24. December 24 except (you get the picture)

**A/N: Today (the second Sunday in November) is Father's Day in Sweden so I was inspired to write this, even though it isn't really the right time.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Dad?"<p>

The query was a little hesitant, and coming after a while of silence from his otherwise talkative son, Hotch immediately turned attentive. This was almost certainly something important to Jack. "Yeah, buddy?"

"We should invite Uncle Dave over for dinner today."

Hotch gave Jack a curious look. "For any particular reason?"

His young face very sincere, Jack nodded. "We learn about different cultures," Jack stumbled slightly over the word and Hotch gave him an encouraging smile when he managed it, "in social studies and today we learned a little about Catho… Cathoci…"

This time Jack didn't manage the complicated word, so Hotch quickly supplied it. "Catholicism."

"Yeah. Because it's an important day for them today. It's St. Joseph's Day. The Joseph who was Jesus' dad."

"Okay," Hotch said, carefully keeping any impatience from his voice to let Jack tell the story at his own pace.

"And they celebrate it with a lot of different stuff. But Ms. Evans said that in Italy, today is also Father's Day."

Oh.

Somehow, Jack had quite early caught on to the relationship between Hotch and Rossi and seemed to in his mind have labeled Rossi as his dad's father without any reservations for such things as biology and not having been raised by him. Hotch wasn't quite sure how; it wasn't as if it was _that _obvious. Maybe it was just the natural intuition of children.

And for the most part, Hotch was happy that his son had decided that Rossi was his grandfather. But sometimes it was… uncomfortable. Because Hotch couldn't quite adopt Jack's unproblematic attitude toward the nature of his relationship with Rossi; he couldn't bring himself to treat it as the indisputable fact Jack seemed to consider it.

The problem was that he couldn't _not_ treat it like that either, because any doubt Hotch showed about Rossi's love for him, Jack would have to see as a reason to doubt the Italian's love for _him_. And Hotch couldn't do that to Jack.

So with a stern reminder to himself that Rossi wouldn't mind being celebrated, Hotch gave his son a smile. "We can do that."

"You should get him a gift as well. You're supposed to do that."

"Okay. What should I get him?"

Jack frowned in thought. "What does he like?"

Whiskey, cigars and beautiful women, Hotch's mind immediately supplied, but since that was hardly an appropriate answer for a child, he shrugged instead. "A lot of different things. We'll make a quick stop at the mall and see if we find something."

* * *

><p>Rossi seemed a bit nonplussed at the sudden dinner invitation but nevertheless accepted without hesitation, agreeing to come over at half past six. When he arrived, Jack and Hotch had already cooked; on Jack's eager suggestion making lasagna. To be honest, Hotch was getting a bit tired of the dish since they ate it whenever the choice of food was left up to Jack, but since Jack seemed to like it so much that he didn't really mind.<p>

"We're making your lasagna!" Jack greeted Rossi as soon as the man stepped through the door, running forward to be swept up into a hug.

"Yeah, it smells wonderful. You're becoming a real chef!"

"Dad did most of it," Jack said, fair as always, "He says I'm too little to use the stove."

Rossi gave the boy a conspiratorial smile. "So's he, really," he stage-whispered.

Jack giggled – missing the eye-roll Hotch gave Rossi – and grabbed Rossi's hand to pull him into the kitchen. "We have dessert as well," he happily informed him. Rossi raised his eyebrows.

"Really? On a Tuesday? How'd you get your dad to agree to that?"

"Well," Jack began, suddenly quite serious as he turned to look up at Rossi, "it's a special occ… occtio…"

"Occasion," Rossi supplied, "How so?"

"You're a Catholicist, right? We learned in school today that it's a special day for you!"

For a moment, Rossi frowned, before he seemed to remember something and nodded. "Ah, yes. It's the day of San Giuseppe. St. Joseph," he clarified at Jack's confused look, "That's right. It is a special day."

At this point, Jack gave Hotch a look that was very demanding for such a young child and not wanting to back out now – and maybe give his son the idea that Rossi was somehow less than real family – Hotch awkwardly cleared his throat. "And, uh… according to Jack's teacher today's also Father's Day in Italy, so, uh… here's a gift."

He quickly held out the small package he had gotten Rossi, not looking at the older man and feeling his face heating. He knew that Rossi wouldn't reject the gift, but that didn't make this any less awkward.

"Aaron…" Rossi said very softly and then Hotch was suddenly wrapped up in a tight hug and a kiss was pressed to his cheek, "Thank you."

"You haven't even opened it yet," Hotch replied.

"I'm not saying thank you for the gift, son," Rossi said and released Hotch from the hug, his eyes moist and a kind smile on his face. Hotch gave him a small smile in return and ducked his head, having no idea what to say.

He had to admit that he was rather grateful when Jack spoke up.

"I've got a gift for you too, Dad!" he said eagerly, "Wait here. It's in my room."

The boy happily skipped off and once he was out of earshot Hotch turned to Rossi with an apologetic smile. "Jack heard about this at school and he really wanted to have you over, so…"

"Aaron Hotchner," Rossi broke him off, a clear warning in his voice and expression stern despite the tear-filled eyes, "if you apologize for this, I'm taking you over my knee no matter how grown up you are."

A bit embarrassed at how easily Rossi could predict him – and at the threat – Hotch gave the older man a small, crooked smile. "Yes sir."

At that point, Jack returned and held out a brightly colored handmade card. Hotch accepted it with a wide smile. "Thanks, buddy. It looks great." And it did, from a father's perspective and considering the age of its creator. The main feature was a drawing of Hotch: clearly recognizable by his dark suit and tie. Apart from that there were hearts and glitter and various other art supplies glued on.

"It does," Rossi agreed, "Why don't you put it on the refrigerator so your dad can see it every day?"

Jack eagerly accepted the suggestion and was about to run off to do that, when his eyes landed on Rossi. He frowned. "Are you crying, Uncle Dave?"

Rossi smiled and swiped a hand over his eyes. "I guess I am, kiddo."

"Why?"

"Because I'm _very, very_ happy."

"Oh," Jack said, then smiled brightly with easy acceptance, "Okay."

He skipped off to put off the card and as they looked after him, Rossi slung an arm around Hotch's shoulders and pulled him closer to mumble something in his ear. "Next year I want a handmade card as well."

"How do you know that's not what's in the box?"

"Is it?"

Hotch tried to look mysterious when he replied, but he had a feeling the mischievous smile that was fighting – and mostly succeeding – to break out on his face ruined that. "Maybe."

Rossi gave his ear a gentle tug. "You're impossible."

"I try."

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: St. Joseph's Day is March 19, in case anyone's interested.  
><strong>


	25. Christmas

**A/N: This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but the site wouldn't work for me... Anyway, merry Christmas to those who celebrate and just general merriness to everyone else! :)**

* * *

><p>Glaring at the cell phone in his hand, Hotch considered whether to throw it against the wall or not. It would cost him quite a lot of money, it'd be a hassle to get into the report and Rossi would at the very least glare at him for it.<p>

But it would also make him feel better. And he needed to feel better.

He and Rossi were on a case in Maryland. It was their third day in the little town they'd been called to and they were nowhere near close to catching the UnSub, so Hotch doubted they'd get back home before at the very least the day after tomorrow. The problem was that it was Christmas. And despite everything, Hotch liked Christmas.

When he was a child Christmas hadn't been much more than a time when he had to be around his father more than usual, and that had been nerve-wrecking even if his father was usually pretty mellow around the holidays. But he'd still had this idea about Christmas and the atmosphere in school, at his friend's houses and so on, he'd always loved. When he moved away with Haley, Christmas had become a little of what he had always felt it should be like. And now he looked forward to it, even if it meant spending a day with Haley's parents.

But because of this damn UnSub, this year he'd spend Christmas Day poring over files in his hotel room.

Deciding that his phone was just a bit too expensive to serve as an outlet for his frustration, Hotch put it down and instead reached for a pen. After a moment's hesitation, he hurled it toward the wall with as much force as he could.

The resulting crash was strangely satisfying and without much thought Hotch reached for another pen.

He had already raised his arm to throw it when the door was thrown opened abruptly, interrupting him and drawing his eyes to the person responsible. It was Rossi, and with a blush Hotch immediately lowered his arm.

His mentor raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that made him want to squirm. "If the hotel charges us for damages it's coming out of your hide."

"Sorry," he offered with a chagrined smile. Rossi just waved away the apology before taking a seat on the bed next to Hotch, tilting his head questioningly.

"So why the tantrum?" he asked. Hotch frowned at his choice of word, glaring at the older man. He didn't have tantrums. But since he was probably already teetering close to being in trouble, he didn't argue the point. Not really, anyway.

"Wasn't a tantrum," he muttered quietly and then continued, louder, "Just frustrated about the case."

Rossi gave him a skeptical look. "So… it's got nothing to do with it being Christmas and you being away from Haley?"

Closing his eyes and turning away from Rossi, Hotch shrugged. Did the older man have to always know what Hotch as thinking? And in this case Hotch couldn't even be annoyed that Rossi was profiling him, which was bad form, since it would be pretty obvious to anyone who knew him that he was missing Christmas with Haley. And Rossi knew him better than anyone.

"Kid?" Rossi prompted him after a while of silence, nudging his shoulder. Hotch shrugged helplessly, raising a hand to awkwardly rub his neck.

"I just… I miss her, y'know? I know we have years of Christmases ahead of us, but I… Well, I want _this _Christmas."

Rossi nodded thoughtfully. "I guess Christmas wasn't that great when you were a kid?"

With a wry smile, Hotch shrugged again. To be entirely honest his Christmases as a child had probably included what Christmases should include; gifts, a tree, good food, family. It was just that his nervousness had made it difficult to enjoy it and it had never really _felt_ like Christmas.

"I don't know. I mean, I got gifts and we decorated the tree and…" he trailed off, mostly because Rossi looked decidedly unimpressed. Maybe Italians celebrated Christmas differently.

"And all the while you were waiting for your father to lose his temper and beat you unconscious?"

Hotch half wanted to argue that his father hadn't beat him unconscious, not very often at least, but he knew Rossi well enough to realize that wouldn't go over very well. His mentor didn't let him in any way express that his father hadn't been that bad and that there were other who had suffered much worse. It was only a few months ago Rossi had had made him write out 'What my father did was unconditionally wrong and I in no way deserved it' a hundred times.

"Something like that," he agreed instead, "I didn't really like it, at least."

"And now you do. How do you celebrate? Just you and Haley or do visit family…?"

"We go to Haley's parents. Her sister and her brother and his family are there too."

"Sounds nice," Rossi said, but he didn't sound entirely convinced, probably remembering Hotch complaining about his girlfriend's parents and their dislike of him.

"What do you do?" Hotch asked after a moment, genuinely curious. Rossi's family was big and apparently it was completely normal for five or so people to drop by his mother's house and have dinner any day of the week, so he suspected that the Rossi matriarch's home would be pretty full on Christmas.

"Go to my mom's place with the rest of the family. Alex and Jo usually tag along as well."

That was pretty much what Hotch had thought. The Leroys weren't entirely expected, but not exactly surprising either. Rossi's mother liked the couple and they seemed just as at home there as they did at Rossi's place and their own house. It seemed to have something to do with Leroy not particularly liking his mother, but no-one had explained things any closer to Hotch. And as Jo apparently wasn't on very good terms with her sister – and her parents were dead – that left the Rossi family as the logical choice.

Hotch sometimes couldn't help but wonder if he would be welcome to just turn up at Mrs. Rossi's doorstep at some holiday normally reserved for family.

"Guess you'll miss that," Hotch remarked, superfluously. Rossi was here with him; of course he couldn't be at his mother's. But he needed to say something.

"Actually," Rossi said, his tone and posture changing a bit as he turned to look more directly at Hotch, "That's what I came to talk to you about. You'll be getting some Christmas, after all; I called Alex and he's coming over here with Jo and some food and gifts."

Surprised, Hotch couldn't help the small frown that appeared on his face. Wasn't it bad enough that he and Rossi were holed up in a substandard hotel; did Rossi really have to drag the Leroys into it?

"That's… nice of them," was all he said though, hoping his voice didn't show any of his skepticism.

"Yeah," Rossi replied, studying him thoughtfully for a while, "They should be here soon."

* * *

><p>Only a little more than an hour later there was a knock the door. Rossi got up to open it, revealing a smiling Leroy with a bag in each hand, ribbons sticking up from them.<p>

"Ho, ho, ho," he greeted them, then jerked his head toward the doorway, "We found this stray on the way here. He claims he's an FBI agent, but I'm not that sure."

Jason Gideon stepped inside, carrying a bag in one hand a tray in the other, and gave Leroy a good-natured glare. "I'm still not convinced _you're_ a real FBI agent," he said drily, before turning to Hotch and Rossi with a small smile, "Merry Christmas."

After Gideon Jo entered, her arms just as full as the men's, and Hotch felt a sense of gut-wrenching guilt welling up. So now not only his, Rossi's and the Leroys' Christmas was spent in a hotel room away from family; Gideon's was as well. He appreciated it, of course, but he didn't want anyone to sacrifice their Christmas for his sake. It might be for Rossi, of course, but Hotch had gotten the distinct impression that this was all for him. And he didn't want that.

"Look," he said, before anyone had time to make themselves at home, "I really appreciate this, and I understand what a sacrifice it's been for you to drive all the way here, but it's really not necessary. I'm sure you want to spend Christmas with your family, and…"

Jo unceremoniously broke him off by giving his cheek a light pat and pulling his head down to kiss the other. "You _are_ family, sweetie. Now, there's turkey, potatoes, baked pasta and then caramel-glazed chestnuts and Christmas pudding for dessert. We'd have brought mistletoe as well, but Jason didn't want to risk having to kiss Dave."

A bit overwhelmed at all of this, Hotch simply took a seat on the bed without arguing when Jo shooed him in that direction and after a few minutes' bustling he accepted a plate completely covered with food, watching as the others got their own plates and found seats.

"Will you say blessings, dear?" Jo addressed her husband once they were all seated. Leroy nodded, clearing his throat a bit awkwardly and bowed his head.

"We thank you, Lord, for all our blessings, for granting mankind salvation from evil through your only son and for all of creation," he hesitated for a moment, before he added, "Glória in excélsis Deo et in terra pax homínibus bonae voluntátis."

After keeping his head bowed a moment longer, Hotch looked up and gave the Frenchman a skeptical look. "Latin?"

Leroy shrugged. "Mass was in Latin when I was a child. I know most of the prayers better in Latin than in French or English. And I studied Latin in school."

"Seriously?"

The man shrugged again. "French private schools in the '50s and '60s weren't exactly known for their progressive curricula." He paused for a beat. "Or for their progressive _anything_, really."

Hotch smiled. "I'll take your word for it. This is really good, by the way." He pointed down to the pasta with his fork.

"It's my mom's, isn't it?" Rossi asked, raising his eyebrows at Leroy who seemed to try to look offended.

"I can make pasta!" he said.

"Not like this, you can't. Besides, I recognize it."

"All right, it's hers," Leroy conceded with a smile, "She sent gifts for you as well. Dave, Aaron."

He handed them a package each, both wrapped in colorful and paper and tied with silky ribbons. A bit uncomfortable, Hotch accepted it. "She really didn't need to. I'm just…"

"Finish that sentence and I'll smack you," Rossi warned evenly, at the same time as he undid the ribbons on his own package. "A hundred bucks says these are both sweaters."

"Betting at Christmas? What would your mother say?" Gideon asked mildly, not even bothering to look up from his food. Rossi scoffed, shrugging.

"Same thing she always says. That I should be more well-behaved."

While the two sniped at each other, Hotch opened his own gift, despite Rossi's threat not entirely comfortable with getting a present from the man's mother. It turned out Rossi was right; it was a dark red, thick knitted sweater, with a small note pinned on it. Hotch had a feeling he blushed fiercely enough for his face to match the gift as he read it.

"_Dear Aaron,_

_Since you do not visit me often enough to let me put some meat on your bones, you need something to keep you warm. David has told me how sick you were this November and that would not have happened if you weren't just skin and bones! You must visit me more often next year so that I can feed you. _

_Take care of yourself,_

_Elena Rossi" _

"What does it say?" Leroy asked, apparently noticing the small note in Hotch's hands.

"Nothing," Hotch replied quickly, not very keen on the evening turning into a session of criticizing his eating habits. But as he should have guessed, Leroy ignored him and snatched the paper from his hands before Hotch had time to stop him. With his head slightly tilted, the Frenchman read through it with a steadily widening smile.

"She's right, you know," he said, handing the note on to his wife. Huffing, Hotch leant back.

"She's such a sweet woman," Jo said when she had finished reading, passing it to Rossi.

"Sweet is pretty much the last word I'd use about her," he complained, "But she _is_ right. You're way too thin, kid."

With a sigh meant to express how exasperating the older people were being, Hotch rolled his eyes heavenward. He turned to Gideon, who was now holding the note. "What? No comments on my weight?"

The profiler gave a small wry smile. "I don't think I've got anything to add."

"Just like usually, then," Rossi quipped, getting a mildly annoyed look.

"Don't squabble, gentlemen; it's Christmas. Here's from Alex and me, honey." Jo handed Hotch an envelope, with his name written in a flowing script that he recognized as Jo's attempting-to-be-legible style.

"Thank you," he said, then cleared his throat embarrassedly, "I don't have my gifts for you here, though."

Leroy smiled, leaning forward to run a hand over Hotch's cheek. "If I was the corny type – which I'm not – I could say that your presence is gift enough. Open that now."

To Hotch's gratitude, no-one commented on his no doubt fierce blush and he ducked his head to obey the instruction. It was a gift certificate for a year's subscription to The National Law Journal. He looked up at the couple, giving them a smile. "Thank you. But you shouldn't have. It's…"

"Another sentence you shouldn't finish," Rossi broke him off, "My gifts aren't here either, by the way. You'll get them when we've caught this bastard."

"You need help?" Gideon asked, "New pair of eyes?"

"Yeah, sure," Rossi said, "Give the files a look."

"After we have eaten," Jo instructed, "It's Christmas, after all."

It really was, Hotch reflected, and it felt like it in spite of the dirty walls and the paper plates. The easy laughter of his companions, Leroy and Jo exchanging tender kisses, Rossi making sure Gideon wasn't too shaken by the young man he had killed on his last case but trying not to come off as actually caring…

All of it made it impossible _not_ to enjoy himself and Hotch gradually found all thoughts of both the case and of missing Haley fading away as he was drawn into the animated discussion, veering from the upcoming election to the best caliber for hunting deer to whether or not the early Christians had been vegetarians.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: This Advent calendar is now, at last, finished. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and favorite'd and read! :)**


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